The red leather chair waited for me to take my seat. I took it, and waited for my requested dessert, admiring the fancy scenery of the restaurant around me. The waitress I asked for flan, returned with flan. Waiting for dessert, the flan looked quite scrumptious. Delicious too. The flan placed on the table had class. Too much class. The flan had so much class, it started taking to me.
"Hello," said the flan.
"I see you're a good writer." He commented.
"Indeed." I replied.
The flan looked confused and asked why the story I wrote started at Chapter 0. I disregarded the flan's opinion. I didn't view him as an equal.
"I don't view you as an equal," I said.
"Understandable," the flan replied.
The flan continued to look at the paper. I continued writing.
"Do you like caramel?" He asked.
"Do I?" I replied, thinking how rhetorical the question seemed.
"As flan, I must be the satisfactory dessert of your needs."
I punctuate the sentence I wrote and continued with the sentence after.
"Understandable." I nodded.
