The hiatus was long, marked by an unquestionable languor and accompanied by the likes of Zendaya in Euphoria and the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of high-school football. The venerable kid draws out his phone for the umpteenth time, harbouring intentions to channel his literary prowess into praising more meals he’s had over his lifetime. Alas, the motivation to do so settles like dust on a piano, marking the continuation of an endless cycle of inaction.
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On this day however, the kid faced an epiphany ever so bright, gleaming with inspiration that one could only dream of. He realised that the pretentiousness and dubiousness that came with praising cuisine was unfounded, unlike criticising it. He whips out his phone, continuing to ignore conventions and writing in a format that was analogous to that of a 16-year old’s One Direction smut fanfic on Wattpad. Words were coming together, letters falling into place.
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Something was missing, this text was slowly morphing into a babble of the highest degree. In an abrupt turnaround, he realises that he wasn’t here for praise. He was ready to speak ill of a dining experience that had watered down what could’ve been a remarkable evening. He opened up every resource he required to serve his judgement in front of him, ready to further the prattle that was already beginning to get tedious to type. “Ah Keisuke, you’re getting old”, he thought, recalling the hour-long queue into Ramen Keisuke Lobster King that delivered their hallmark Lobster Broth Ramen Special (All Toppings) ($20.90++) with an anti-climatic potpourri of ingredients and an indescribable flaw with the noodles that did not play well with the broth it swam in. Racking his brain for words and adjectives that could further emphasise on his mild disappointment with the ramen that he had, a flicker of light came on. He knew just what to write, three simple words to consolidate judgement, information and showmanship in his final paragraph.
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This place sucks.