CHAPTER 1. WE ARE CHOSING, WE ARE BEING CHOSEN

Morning, I woke to screaming. Dreamed they were going to eat me.

I was supposedly going for bread but ended up in some bizarre restaurant. Before me—a table, white tablecloth, plate. At the table—some well-fed gentleman in a suit, fork and knife in hand.

Beside him—a waiter, thin old man with a notepad.

"What'll it be?" he asks.

I stare at him uncomprehendingly.

"Well?!" roars the man at the table.

"Are you asking me?" I venture to speak.

"Precisely," the waiter replies, continuing: "We're immensely grateful you've graced our shop-restaurant with your presence. This unique establishment isn't merely the only one in our city, but—I dare proclaim with justified pride—absolutely unique. After this, you'll never want to go anywhere else, not to shops, not to restaurants. Anywhere. Simply tell me what foods you personally enjoy or what delicacies you've long dreamed of but couldn't afford. Anything. You won't pay a thing. This is where your dreams come true. Right now."

"Uh... avocado," I say, remembering Shenderovich's verse.

"Superb choice," says the waiter, and a tray appears with a green, wrinkled pear.

He fetches a ladder, places it by the table.

"Please climb up and make yourself comfortable. Choose—and be consumed according to your desire!"

I woke in cold sweat, shook myself like a wet dog, and started hunting for slippers.