He knew the deal. White asshole wants an exotic snack? C’mon down. I didn’t have to ask. He knew I was there to eat serpent. (Also, it’s the only menu item.) On the ground near the grill sat a bag full of cobras. How many? In my estimation, somewhere between a few and a shitload. Hard to tell considering how long and tangly they are. Seeing them all coiled in a bag ball wasn’t unsettling. Not at all. I’ve read he’s upgraded to a glass tank for storage. More dramatic that way, I assume. Who can resist cobra bingo?

The chef nonchalantly put on fingerless gloves and dove in for that night’s lucky winner. Nag was not amused. In fact, he was a cantankerous fucker. Who could blame him? The chef did nothing to assuage his anger. Quite the contrary.

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