By some bizarre miracle -- or so it seemed -- Yitzhak was actually in the diner today. Granted, he was slumped behind the counter staring blankly and not doing much of anything, but he was there. It was an improvement.

[OOC: Same as yesterday -- busy, headache, other various forms of pain, so no OCD and mod your service for now.]

Yitzhak hadn't even made it home from his weekly drag show on the mainland until this morning, and he was so completely hungover and cranky that he didn't even notice the strange woman bossing his staff around, doing all the cleaning he wasn't bothering to do, and trying to put flower vases on the tables ( Read more... )

When Yitzhak got in this morning to discover that the kitchen staff had made a vaguely obscene (if you squinted at it a certain way; otherwise it was mostly just lumpy and kind of gross) sculpture out of the leftover mashed potatoes rather than throwing them out, he spent several moments beating his head into the wall and inventing all kinds of ( Read more... )

Yitzhak was at the diner a good hour and a half before he usually showed up, mostly to escape the blinking message light on his phone at home. Phyllis Stein kept calling him, for reasons he didn't think he wanted to know, so he was being avoidy. Sure, he could have just grunted noncommittally at her, but he'd much rather not hear what she had to ( Read more... )

There was, yet again, no sign of Yitzhak in the diner today except for the state of the place, which was even more unkempt and disarrayed than it had been yesterday. He'd actually bothered to order more supplies -- much to the shock of the kitchen staff -- but the napkin holders were getting perilously close to empty, the sugar jars were following ( Read more... )

The kitchen staff was just a liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittle tiny bit cranky about the fact that they were down to about a gallon of milk in the fridge, and the hamburger bun supply was running dangerously low ( Read more... )

Yitzhak was limping visibly when he came into the diner today, which had the unpleasant (or possibly comical, depending on how you chose to see it) side effect of him being poutier more sullen than usual. He'd sprained his ankle on the way back out of the Preserve last night after his impromptu victory dance around the angel statues (let it never ( Read more... )

The angels lunged.The prey vanished ( Read more... )

So Yitzhak had been contemplating an attempted staring contest with those tacky angel statues, or maybe covering one of them with sequins, but it kind of seemed like a futile gesture in the end. The staring, anyway. The sequins . . . well, he just couldn't be bothered to care that much about a statue's fashion sense. And then he'd heard the ( Read more... )

If Yitzhak paid any mind to the statues around town today, it was only to survey them with a slow, detached gaze and mentally critique their sculpted clothing. And then he went about his business again ( Read more... )