“Just got word back from upper management.” An older male voice, probably past middle age.
“Do we know when the shipment is coming in?” A younger male voice, probably late teenager.
The disappointed sigh gave away the answer long before it actually came. “It’s not. They’re sending a courier over with the promotional posters, but the merchandise itself will be delayed past launch. That sort of thing is custom, you know?”
Obviously, the response said in its tone. “Sure, but what are we supposed to do? Make it ourselves?”
“...That’s kind of the idea.”
A long pause then as the pieces left unspoken were rapidly put together.
“Oh. Well we can do that, if...?”
“The courier will have supplies for that too. You don’t mind getting your hands dirty, do you?”
“No, and neither does Alph. So what, you want us to use the courier…?”
“No! Of course not, he’s with the company. Find someone else.”
“All right, fine. You won’t be here?”
“Out of town next week. This mess is all yours.” Poorly-masked delight.
With bold-faced sarcasm came the quick answer. “Great, thanks. I’ll send you a postcard.”
An honorably-dirtied mountain bike strapped to the trunk, Saul sped down the highway at a solid 80 miles per hour. His body was rife with the good kind of ache that came at the end of a four hour ride. Driving all the way out to Geraldine Forest was an all day ordeal, so he didn’t get to do those trails often.
After that ride, plus an hour and a half behind the wheel of his Caliber, he’d worked up a heck of an appetite. Up ahead he saw a few offramps, the edge of a town by the look of it, and scanned the signs for a place to eat. “Picante Parilla” was the first one Saul noticed that wasn’t an awful chain, and he flipped on his signal to investigate.
The place was rather attractive on the outside, and looked to be a decent-sized establishment, but there were only two cars in the lot. They might’ve already closed – Saul almost passed right by the lot, but the glowing red sign in the window by the door still read “open”. He glanced at his clock – 9:48. Maybe it was their mistake, but no harm in checking.
Mexican food wasn’t normally his thing – Saul ate healthy, and it showed as he was still wearing a tight shirt and bike shorts that left little to the imagination of the suddenly-awake cashier behind the counter, but he was starving, and one little meal with some extra calories and protein wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him after a workout like today. He was struck at once as he walked in by a large central display case exhibiting what he surmised to be a promotional item of the season, in this case a tostada bowl heaping with beans, lettuce, cheese, and salsa. The case was bigger than he was, and the model meal within sized accordingly. It jarred Saul for a moment as he walked across the dining room and he sucked back his saliva – it looked real. The motionless morsel model glistened with oil and veritably dripped with fresh ingredients. For a big plastic (or wood maybe?) model, the thing really made him drool. Some love went into making it, he’d bet.
“Tonight it is,” the cashier audibly said to himself, standing up straight as the cyclist approached the counter.
“What’s that?” Saul asked, taking a peek behind him into the kitchen. A guy was back on a food line, already cleaning it up and prepping ingredients for tomorrow. He looked like he actually belonged working in a Mexican restaurant, as opposed to the pasty thin young man behind the counter with the name tag “Reg.”
“Nothin, nothin,” Reg assured him, tapping his console to get back to the main menu. “Just wondering if I was going to see my next customer tonight or tomorrow.”
“What’ll you have?”
Hungry though he was, Saul was not in the mood for a ton of grease. He flicked back his scruffy brown hair and scanned the menu for something simple. “There… we’ll go with a number 5.”
“Three tacos and a drink, sure thing – $6.35.” Saul handed him plastic and got a receipt. “Oh! Know what, I already started cleaning the fountain lines for the month. How about I give you a bottle of water instead, and a mini-cake here for free?”
Saul grinned. He wasn’t a big soda fan anyway. “That sounds just fine.”
Reg handed him a bottle of water and relayed the order to the guy working on the food line. “Last one for the night,” he added, giving Saul a nod.
It didn’t take long for the guy to put three tacos together and plop them on a tray, wrapped in foil and steaming with a terrific aroma. Saul kind of liked the place – like an upscale fast food joint. He wondered if there were other branches.
He found a table and started to eat, back against the big promotional item in the middle of the store. Damn, this food was good. He’d been on a healthy streak for a long time, he’d started to forget what a little indulgence tasted like. He’d be sure to keep this from becoming a habit, but for now, best enjoy it. Saul heard footsteps behind him and glanced left, spotting Reg approaching the door. He clicked off the “open” lamp and locked the doors before meeting Saul’s gaze. “S’okay, the doors still push open from the inside,” he offered with a wink.
Mouth full, Saul nodded in response. He twisted open his bottle and chugged. The interaction with Reg had been so casual already that he hadn’t even noticed the seal on the water bottle was broken.
He did feel like there were eyes on him though. Eh poor Reg… it probably sucked when a guy showed up asking for food right when you wanted to close. He was probably watching, waiting so he could come clean the dining room. Well, that was his problem, Saul was paying after all.
The food was surprisingly fresh, too. Usually late at night the staff only had… so much… so much stuff…
Saul’s train of thought ran off as a strange tiredness swept over him and his free hand began leaning on the table as he fed himself one-handed. How late at night was it again? He was so tired… he felt like he might not finish eating. Ohh and he still had to drive home…
The half-eaten taco fell from his hand onto the tray and Saul slumped over. The thought of a spiked drink never crossed his mind as he sat contemplatively napping, eyes half-closed and watching as Reg approached. The jovial tone of his voice hardly reflected the harshness of his words. “The last customer of the night. God, do I hate you guys!”
Saul couldn’t even process the words, Reg sounded so delighted. He turned to the other worker. “Okay Alph, the customer is happy so you’re on. You ever do this before?” The more fit-looking worker from the back room had joined him at the tableside, a wheeled cart nearby with the surface up above his eye level.
“Okay, basically you got ten minutes of happy starting now to stuff him with as much of that as you can. Have fun!”
Have fun? Saul’s lethargic attempts to track and piece together the instructions were interrupted by his shoulders being grabbed and pulled. In seconds he was yanked upright and spread on his back across the dining room table. His legs weighed a million pounds, his arms hung to the floor encased in concrete. His head lolled toward Alph, barely able to register as his half-eaten taco was pressed toward his face.
The crispy, delicious thing slid across his tongue and he was happy to chew it down. “Why’s he so helpful about it?” Alph wondered aloud.
“Probably ‘cause he was eating when he downed that water,” Reg responded as he turned out their customer’s pockets.
In no time Saul had finished his meal and Alph was reaching for a platter on the cart, piled high with an impossible number of burritos. Selecting the top one, Alph began feeding it to him, and Saul welcomed the introduction of pork and black beans, munching slowly and happily.
“That’s not gonna work, Alph,” Reg said as he rifled through Saul’s wallet. “You have to cram him, or you’re gonna run out of time.” Reg pulled out a driver’s license and all the cash in the wallet, in this case $32. “Hey, thanks for the tip, Saul!” He gave the recumbent diner a pat on his relaxed, but still solid stomach. “You’re a good guy.”
Alph obediently picked up the pace. A burrito entered Saul’s expectant jaws and pushed past his teeth, barely giving him a chance to chew at all before it forced its way down his throat. He raised a confused gaze to them both as further unexpected morsels entered his gaping passage. “Wouldn’t this make more sense to just use the ingredients?” Alph asked as muffled, unconcerned murmurs escaped Saul’s clogged burrito hole.
“We used to do that,” Reg answered casually, continuing to pick through the pockets of Saul’s bike shorts. “Hey, want a Dodge, Alph?”
“The manager will probably take that.”
“Eh, probably. But anyway, the stuff spills everywhere when you use straight pork – it’s just easier to feed someone when the ingredients are prewrapped.” As he looked down at Saul, obediently accepting burrito after burrito with remarkable speed and willingness, the wheels began to turn though. “You know what we should invent? Tortilla dispenser. Pack your ingredients in a hopper and crank it out through an endless tube of flour tortilla, all going right down their throat. We should patent that.”
Faster though that might be, it certainly wouldn’t have been easier for Saul. Already his jaw ached, and his stomach was starting to protest. At three minutes into this feeding, it should have put a stop to the process long ago, but it felt like there was no satisfying the pit of his abdomen. Still, the burritos kept coming, and it was clear they were meant to do so. So as he continued his confused complaints and swallowed the endless supply of Mexican appetizers, his stomach reached its limit, and began to swell.
Reg pointed and Alph smiled in satisfaction as the tight yellow shirt began to rise. Alph began to push harder with each morsel, invigorated by the sign of progress. Finding no response to his unintelligible questions from the two waiting staff, Saul glanced up at the cart. Still countless burritos to go, and who knew how many more down out of sight from this low angle. Still his jaws worked until his throat started to go numb.
“There, there you see that?” Reg pointed at their customer. “He’s not swallowing much anymore. Give it a few more, then let’s try skipping the chewing. If his throat’s gone numb, his gag reflex is gone too.”
Saul chewed with contented numbness and half closed eyes until a hand on his jaw forced it open. Another burrito entered – and to his surprise, just kept going. He tried to bite it but couldn’t, and to his shock a second burrito began its journey, merely pushing on the back one.
Realizing he was eating without swallowing, Saul let out a gargled sputter, but then let a dumb glaze cross his eyes. He didn’t have to do any work at all anymore. His aching jaw relaxed, and Alph began to shove burrito after burrito down his gullet, as fast as he could go. The shirt continued to rise, a rather flattened-spherical shape presenting beneath the tight fabric as his gut worked to contain all that entered him.
“Look how happy the customer is,” Reg gushed mockingly at Saul’s blissful stare. As a test, he pressed firmly on Saul’s belly and their customer whined in response –
“It’s okay, didn’t slow him down any.”
– but a considerable softness had been added to the tight, toned abdomen. It was filling up nicely with pork, and soon the sound of stretching fabric could be heard over the gentle *pat* of burrito against burrito and Saul’s occasional murmurs shifting between approval and perplexity.
Saul could no longer remember what was going on. Memories of the drive home and stopping for dinner were forgotten, he was lost in the moment, with everything he knew or understood revolving around what was happening next. Another and another and another and another tasty morsel sliding the full length of his tongue down into the numb abyss and then filling his stomach with just one more inhabitant. Why? Why was it all happening? Who knew, but surely he would find out. He wouldn’t be given all this delicious free food for no reason.
Saul looked down unexpectedly, causing Alph to have to adjust his grip on their customer’s head. Saul beheld something impossible – his stomach, always so perfectly in shape, had swollen into a great round ball of… something. He made to poke at it, only to remember his arms had no energy left in them. Something had robbed him of it. Pushing that thought to the side for the moment, Saul studied – between burritos crossing his vision – his swelling stomach, and somehow bridged the impossible gap to realize he was actually filling up with all these burritos being fed into his mouth.
“He’s getting thoughtful,” Reg mused. “Running out of time there, Alph.”
“I got it,” he responded confidently, pushing with his right, then left, then right in perfect sequence, forcing the customer’s head back against the table. The stretching of his shirt shrieked with a sudden rip, and Saul felt cool air on his belly. A lot of it, in fact. His belly must be way bigger than it was supposed to be.
The customer looked up at Alph with genuine confusion, but Alph only increased the speed until with a victory cry he clapped his hands. “That’s all of them!”
Reg stood and flicked a toothpick he’d been toying with. “All right, let’s move him.”
Saul looked left and right with narrow, surprised eyes and a burrito between his teeth as Reg grabbed his shoulders and Alph grabbed his thighs. The two of them swung him over onto the emptied cart, and with the great shift in mass Saul felt the depth of the change to his body. The expanse of his stomach appeared to have overtaken his entire torso. His ripped shirt now bunched up under his armpits as he felt the cool tray beneath him and bare skin all above.
A sad look crossed the customer’s face as Alph began to wheel him off. A glance to the left revealed the uneaten bonus cakelet still sitting on the tabletop.
The cart carried him past the imaginary barrier behind the counter, where the perspective reversed and the food-making equipment ceased to be scenery. Saul’s eyes grew a worried quality as Reg and Alph grabbed him again and swung him with a plop onto a large wooden table.
Saul’s entire torso was now massive. His stomach had swollen greatly and taken the rest of his body with it, growing into a great fat watermelon shape with the squish of a leather sack full of meat. His arms floundered at his sides, still weak but somehow managing to bat ineffectually at his own spongy handles where his skin lay bare above his ragged yellow shirt.
“Is it wearing off?” Alph wondered, approaching the customer with something in his hands.
“Yeah, the happy is just about out of time,” Reg replied. “Let’s get started.”
Saul watched as Alph upturned a bottle of olive oil over his great pale dome of a belly and the cool, slick substance washed over it. The worker moved in with a brush, coating his exposed skin evenly. The sudden visceral change in temperature shocked him a bit and Saul jumped. What was happening here?!
He chewed with sudden energy, swallowing what he had to and coughing out the rest of the food still lodged in his throat. It took time, and while he worked he was able to observe the skin under the brush turning from a pale pink to a powdery white. “MMphwhaa-? RMPH…”
Saul couldn’t swallow fast enough. Grumbling in frustration and now greatly concerned with this new change they were enacting on his body, he started to curl his legs and tried to reach for Alph’s hands, feeling strength return bit by bit. Before he could accomplish anything, Reg joined in with his own brush, taking the waistband of Saul’s bike shorts and his underwear and lifting up, casually slathering more oil on his body beneath.
Saul sputtered a cloud of ground pork at the indignation. “What-! *COUGH* What the hell do you- you think you’re d-doing-?!” he managed finally, feeling his hands fall weakly on Alph’s wrists and follow them as they worked, following his side and up under the ragged remains of his shirt, reaching his armpit and tracing down the left arm. “Are you trying to make me a burrito?!”
“Now I’ve done it, the customer is unhappy,” Reg chuckled, setting down the brush and circling out of Saul’s sight. He looked down instead with worry as a tingling struck up in all the places it had grown white, which was rapidly increasing. His entire front torso was a spooky, pale white and all of it – plus what he couldn’t see under his shorts – was reacting to the oil with a warm, goosebump-like prickle.
Saul wasn’t having it anymore. Feeling his strength continue its resurgence, he bucked in a failed first attempt to sit up, then started getting physical. He swung at Alph, who ducked back, startled, then tried to restrain him. Before a full fight could break out however, Reg returned with something in his arms and grabbed Saul by the chin. “The best solution for an unhappy customer has gotta be free food,” he snickered, and before their customer could respond, Reg thrust the nozzle on a thick hose deep into his mouth and held it there.
Saul sputtered and protested, kicked and grabbed at the hose, but none of it stopped Reg from turning it on and sending a hot liquid gush of spiced cheddar pouring down his gullet.
“Ah good, he likes it,” Reg smiled as Saul’s shoes scuffed on the lower end of the table and Alph held his shoulders down. “Think you can hold him on your own? I gotta work on the body.”
“Yeah, he seems too fat to fight much,” Alph nodded, taking the hose in one hand and laying the other on their customer’s thick, padded chest. Saul whimpered with puppyish eyebrows as he watched Reg proceed toward his great fat middle, quivering noticeably with the new contents being added. He could already feel his body stretching, changing shape amidst that thrilling tingle as his stomach searched for more room, pushing outward, upward, and downward – even his thighs seemed to be starting to make room for more meat and now cheese.
Reg lifted his newest tool and Saul’s eyes boggled in scared bewilderment. It was a rolling pin, and Reg gave it only the slightest taunting wiggle before pressing gently into their customer’s soggy middle and pushing downward.
Saul groaned as he felt the effects immediately and fully. His midsection was clearly no longer wrapped in normal skin, for it stretched downward at once, his bike shorts travelling perhaps five inches south in one solid push that both shortened and fattened his legs. Reg took a brush in his other hand and slathered more oil down his legs, knocking his shoes and socks off hastily as he coated even the tips of his toes and the soles of his feet in oil. Saul kicked all the while but his legs were shorter now, uncoordinated, and the tingling was maddening, overpowering. Still cheese poured down his throat and he cried out in distress to the avail of no one.
The customer’s stomach swelled once again, and Reg returned with the rolling pin to even him out. He pressed downward, and the great white expanse spread downward with it, pushing his little black shorts further out of reach. In some kind of desperation, Saul stopped fighting the hose and reached for his shorts as they tried to escape. He craned his neck, tried to sit up against Alph’s guarding hand, and stretched with one arm as far as he could, but could only brush the shorts with his fingertips. His body was already deformed into a great white log with shrinking legs and a mouthful of cheese.
Reg surprised him then with a pull of the pin – the fatness of his stomach travelled upward, this time plumping out his rail-thin arms. In seconds they had gone from fit biceps to flabby thighs as pork, beans, and cheese flooded them from the pressure inside. He swung the fattened limbs at Reg, but he could barely reach with one arm and it didn’t create any effect.
God, this oil… As if it wasn’t bad enough being stuffed and stretched like a tortilla, this stuff coating him seemed to make him acutely aware of every little feeling that came with it. Saul could feel the cheese flowing down his body, coating the underside of his skin and mixing with the meat below. He could feel his legs, initially fattened but then overtaken and assimilated by his expansive midsection. And he could feel every square inch of that rolling pin and all it touched as it moved the contents of his belly downward and upward, destroying what was left of him and leaving behind a featureless stuffed tortilla shell.
One thing he didn’t notice, partially because he couldn’t see it, was the buildup of contents at his upper chest and neck. It wasn’t until the collar of his shirt, tough and resilient, began digging into his flesh that he became aware, and let out a series of whines with increasing pitch as it dug in and pinched his body around his neck. Alph noticed and, no longer needing to keep him restrained, fetched a knife and expertly cut the collar in half. Immediately, Saul’s neck bloated up with a gurgle and his head pitched back, almost perpendicular to his lengthy body.
“Alph, shut it off!” Reg ordered. Alph was quick to obey and removed the hose, dripping from their customer’s mouth, leaving him panting and dripping with cheese. “Sorry, I forgot to mention that,” Reg went on, leaning casually on their work’s stomach with the rolling pin. “When the neck goes, he’s full and ready to be flipped.
“Fl… flipped?” Saul panted, cheese dribbling up from his mouth onto his cheeks. He felt hands grab him by the shoulders and middle and with a great twist roll him onto his stomach. “OOoffff…” he grunted, reaching for his head with one tiny fat arm.
The scrap of his shirt was brushed to the side and from head to five feet below where his shorts still clung to his bottom he was now a great fat, sausagey landscape. More oil was applied and they began the brushing, renewing the despicable evocative tingling. “What… what is all this?” he begged, eyes forced forward by his new lack of a neck. “Why do this to me?”
“Well, we had to pick someone,” Reg answered with a little sigh as he worked. “And who better than that annoying customer who pops in right when you’re about to close?”
Reg circled around to brush all over Saul’s face as he sputtered in protest. That particular indignity was almost forgotten though when he felt Alph slip off those last clinging shorts, however.
“H-hey!” he shouted, thrashing his lengthy body.
“Oh relax, there’s nothing to cover up down there,” Reg taunted, drawing the brush down his nose.
“You’re almost done, you know!” Reg answered cryptically. “Just need to finish shaping you up and then it’s off to the stove.”
Stove?! “STOVE?!” Saul bucked, trying to twist his head away from Reg, though this was hardly easy without a neck.
“You’re just a liiiiittle saggy at this point,” he explained further, the two of them carefully scootching Saul over on the table so his face met a wooden barrier. “You have to be packed nice and tight for the demonstration. But we’ll fix that for you.”
In the corner of his vision, Saul watched Reg reach for a crank on the side of the table. He reached for it himself, and to his surprise found his fat little arm made it to Reg’s. Reg returned his gaze with amused surprise, then gave the crank a couple quick spins. A second wooden barrier collided with his feet and nudged him forward so his face just brushed the barrier. Memories of himself willingly accepting morsel after morsel from Alph, allowing himself to be stuffed full of burritos until he resembled one himself flooded back and he despaired as he realized how easily manipulated he’d been.
“I don’t wanna be your burrito!” Saul wailed, struggling to pull Reg’s hand from the crank.
“Don’t worry, you won’t!” Reg promised, using his free hand to stroke Saul’s reassuringly. “You’re going to be a spicy enchilada!”
And he cranked. Immediately their customer’s face slammed into the barrier before him with a wet slap, and his opposite arm flailed about wildly. Reg cranked again and the muffled protests became yet more muffled, fist slamming the table helplessly. He cranked another time and the saggy log of a customer puffed noticeably. Alph smoothed out the creases in the helpless figure’s form as it began to finally assume a uniform shape. Another crank and Saul’s fat little arms withdrew, releasing Reg’s own hand as it grew too short to reach. Another crank and the arm was reduced to a fat little cone, one more and the cone drew impossibly wide, no longer an arm but a mere mount for the useless little hand on the end.
Saul could barely be heard. Reg patted his side experimentally, feeling how packed his filling had become and giving him another crank. The hands were pulled further back, and they fluttered helplessly against his solidly stuffed sides. “Pin that back,” Reg ordered, and the two of them each held a hand back against their customer’s body as he cranked once more. The great white tube expanded one more time and the hands retreated until they were flush with its sides. A barely-noticeable palm-and-fingers shaped protrusion was all one could see, and Reg was confident they could take clean that up before the end.
Reg spun the crank in reverse and they removed their customer from the simple press. Saul felt so tight he couldn’t even move. Every square inch of his skin screamed with a heated itch to remind him that beneath lay more meat et al than should be allowed inside a person. His face was no longer a face, but a series of smooshed creases, a mouth, and two eyes, small and receded amongst the great broad side far larger than what should fit them. The voice that emerged was so defeated it made Reg laugh too hard to answer. “Wh-what’s the difference?”
Alph spoke up to respond in Reg’s place. “Between a burrito and an enchilada? It’d be easier to show you.”
He started to heft the great fat wrap, but faltered and hastily set him down. “Oof, that cheese really added some pounds.”
“Don’t you dare drop him,” Reg warned, moving to the other end. “I don’t want to have to do this all over again.”
Moving slowly and deliberately, the two hefted the great enchilada-to-be and deposited him in an oily pan sized for something as monstrously huge as he. Saul whimpered as he basted while the two wheeled him over to a griddle and strenuously hefted the pan onto the heat. At first Saul didn’t even notice the heat beneath him as his body still felt full of it, but as the oil began to sizzle he found himself drowning amidst the sensation of a billion fingernails dancing gingerly across his underside. He let out a maddened whoop, and if he wasn’t so stuffed he might have leapt right out of the pan, but in his current state he could do little more than choke out obscenities and lose himself in the sensual experience of his own frying exterior.
There was a jab to his front and bottom, and he felt himself flip over in the pan. Oh, the oil! He could be dying, the sensation was so extreme. His stomach still sizzled with the clinging fluids while his back now joined in the damning enterprise.
“Fffnnn unngh… Fwa… fuckn…”
Reg laughed again. “Ah man, hope we can pan-fry the next one too, they make the funniest noises. You never hear that when you deep fry them.”
On some level, Saul registered when he was lifted from that hellish euphoria and placed on his back, but the cooking oils continued their work while the two dabbed him off. “You’re just about done,” he heard someone say as the world spun around him.
He only really began to return to his senses when he was dumped on his stomach onto a great white plate, and noticed from the sight and smells that he was back in the dining room. His beady eyes darted around and landed on the tostada bowl as the two workers removed it from the display case. For the first time, Saul realized with dread he could see two tiny eyes on the side of the shell, returning his gaze with forlorn.
“W-w-wait!” he cried finally, finding his faculties again after the ordeal he’d been through. “Wh-what are you doing with that one?”
“Not your concern,” Reg answered coldly as Alph wheeled it into the back. Reg had several large plastic bags full of cheddar cheese that he sliced open and began to pour lightly across Saul’s back. He whined with alarm and racked his brain, feeling the end for him approaching.
“But…! But but but why?!” he pleaded, feeling cheese thoroughly cover him as Reg tossed the empty bags and reached for a hefty bucket. “Why does your promotional thing have to be a person?! Why can’t you just– AHHH!”
Steaming hot chili sauce began to pour across his back, melting the cheese and triggering a mild relapse for the poor enchilada. Reg set the empty bucket down and grabbed another as Alph returned empty-handed. “If it wasn’t alive, it would rot of course,” Reg answered, pouring out the second bucket across the enchilada. Sauce began to pool beneath him as Saul quivered gently in overstimulation. “But that does mean we’re going to have to shut you up, obviously.”
Reg grabbed his mouth and yanked. “Fwuuuuh?!” Saul yelped as the creases on his front unfolded and Reg got a handful of extra tortilla. With apparent practice, he drew it upward and folded the opening upon itself. To his shock he felt Alph doing the same with extra tortilla leftover at his bottom and folding it tight as the two of them sealed up and forever shushed their new promotional display. Sauce and melted cheese dripped down his sides and face as Saul was left to watch with hopelessness and silence the two of them heft his plate into the display case and lock it up for what must be the next full month, or for all he knew, longer.
The real irony, Saul supposed as the sauces and cheese settled, was that he hated fatty foods. Once a figurative model for fitness, Saul was now a literal model for indulgence.
Reg and Alph shook hands. “Posters next?” Alph asked.
“Yeah I guess,” Reg replied. “Tell you what, that looks frickin’ tasty. I think I’m gonna have one before we get back to work.”
The two walked off, leaving the enchilada alone to stew in his perch.