Cake Roulette
Mr. Quentin extracted the empty dropper from the cake, and gently wiped the chocolate frosting from the glass before screwing it back into the bottle. He slipped the compound 1080 into the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. Admittedly, a rather nasty game of roulette, but you’ll soon learn it was necessary. Mr. Quentin placed the slice of chocolate cake with the other seven slices, placed a hand on each side of the cart, then hung his head and paused. Another year, another dinner party spent serving his prized chocolate cake to the wrong family; although, thankfully, this would be the last. The thought made Mr. Quentin smile, and with a satisfied sigh, he closed his eyes and pulled the cart into a soft pirouette in front of him. The cart wheels on the marble floor was usually a noise that reminded Mr. Quentin of his hatred and misery day in and day out, but today, it was music.