So, during my lunch hour, I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. I don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone. Then, lo and behold, over yonder, I see before me a restaurant beloved yet not graced for over a six years time. Standing in front of it, I feel as if I made it through the wilderness. Yes, somehow I made it through and I didn't know how lost I was until I found it, again. Pushing through the door, I strut in. Seriously, you can tell by the way I use my walk. The aroma of spices fills this Indian restaurant and my stomach aches for the goodness. But as I lock gaze with the waiter, who is expectant for the information only I can provide and confirm, I realize I need to act. (Do I say it? Do I voice it? Help! I need somebody. I'm not so self assured.) But resigned, I raise my hand and lift the index finger up to let the good man know that I'd be a party of One. And I can't help but think that One is the loneliest number that I'll ever do.
But then I had the Rogan Josh and I didn't care. I was satiated. Hmm... Rogan Josh!
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