There’s a knot in The Monster’s stomach. He sits in Chaya Venice waiting for his lunch companion to arrive. He looks around the room swept by nostalgia. The bay windows with a view of Main Street, the table in far the corner, the date fourteen years ago. The night started off with dazzling promise, a beautiful date, the very first The Monster had in LA, and a fine meal in the offing. A packed room on a Friday night, a corner table from which to spy the hip goings on of a city that was still alien to this newcomer. The restaurant chosen because The Monster used to drive by and look on in envy at the life those inside were leading while his seemed to be stagnating. A bottle of wine procured far outside a price range The Monster could afford, a selection of appetizers and entrees ordered that to the ears of a man used to places like Jan’s Pies for the past six months sounded more delicious than any human should have the right to consume.
For it was in this very location that The Monster’s life took a wide u-turn. Because in the midst of the date The Monster fell asleep at the table, only awoken when one of the waiters tried to put down his entrée. It was then, sheepishly looking at the date he knew he would never see again that he decided to dump the job that was making him miserable, enter the profession he came to LA to pursue, and buy a Zagat Guide and eat his way through it.