Canapés

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By Matthew Wong

The Guitarist strummed his out of tune guitar.

The Chef carved slices of meat from the ham in the center of the table as the Guitarist kept on strumming a tuneless Tears in Heaven. Proficiently, the Chef made rose-shaped canapés with the slices and spiced mayo, topped with a cube of fried potato.
The sedated diner finally woke from his slumber, with a puddle of drool on the table. He looked around; confused, he tried to get up, but couldn’t.
 “Looking for this?” The Chef said, with a grin.
  “What the hell did you do to my leg?”
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