Serve you right, you stupid bitch.

Oh, go ahead. You think I don't sense you judging me? Your thoughts crawl up my back, tiny serpents hissing disapproval as they strive to burrow under my skin.

Head Chef Jean Vaucluse's skull throbbed with a vehemence that even two just rolled joints may not have been able to relieve.

Let me tell ya a little secret.

I'm in Ane.