"Wait!" called out the waitress. "The bathroom is THAT way..." She sighed as she watched the strange young swordsman saunter off into the dark alley.
"Who was that, Margie?" called out the chef, her father, only just noticing the stranger in his restaurant's kitchen.
"No idea," she said, still perturbed. "I think he's a few bricks short of a load, whoever he is..."
"Never mind; no harm done, eh? Oh, right, the food's ready," her father said as he turned to her, his face flushed from working close to the hot cooking fires. "The steaks're all sliced," he said as he pointed towards the slabs of meat which he'd just slid onto a set of waiting plates. "Now you just throw a few carrots on there, and some of that sauce, while I get things cleaned up back here. Those folks almost ready to leave, d'ye think?"
"Not so's you'd notice," she said in resignation, and set to work.
Soon the six steak dinners were ready to go. Margie gathered them up on a couple of trays, and picked up the pot of coffee almost as an afterthought. She then walked back out to the dining area, heavily laden with her burden of food.