The layers of grime make the floor brown and yellow, but you can see from a spot where a sickly patch of carpet must have been, that the tile used to be red and white. on the walls are pictures of bright, happy scenery covered in rotting stains, showing the poison that this café breathes. the jukebox, plays how it looks, the music is scratchy and broken. Any beauty that could come from a singer's voice, is gagged and gargled.
You sit down, and a waitress? comes over to you. The scratchy voice is accompanied by the stink of tooth decay, "what'll it be, honey?"

To your surprise the goblin is female. You pick up the menu, but anything that would be appetizing is probably long expired. The menu looks older than your hostess, and smells just as bad. As you read down the list of food, you see that most have been scratched out. You find a breakfast platter and think, it can't be to difficult to mess up something like that.

"I'll have the sunrise supreme."
"We don't serve that no more," the beast bellowed.
"Well, what do you have?"
"Soup of the day, and the special."
"Which is...?"
"Tomato, and the sandwich is roast beef on rye."
"I'll have both then." You aren't too sure about that, but you think anything at this point would hit the spot.
Blanche waddles over to the counter, and gargles "soup and sandwich."

The tv plays white noise, it seems no one is willing to change the station, it's probably the only station, but no one has the audacity to put it out of its misery. the smell of cigarettes, mold, rot, and the concoction of vomit that is the soup of the day burns your nose, but your hungry and desperate. moe looks like a donkey, with an itchy beard, and scraggly eyebrows. His hairline is running away from the garbage he is cooking. He has a dog name Barney who is cleaning himself, but that won't do any good in this place. the people sitting in the next booth, look like they belong here. They talk like the food here, stinky and bland, about how they've gotten their deals on the ten dollar hookers here.

The  soup of the day is churning in a grimey pot, you can see the layers of soup from weeks, maybe years past.
Moe grumbles, his nose picking interrupted, and sloppily throws food together. Blande grabs the ladle, The soup of the day is popping with cancerous fumes. The pot begins to shake, and a form grows out of the deep abyss. It's screech is ear piercing, and it's covered in the birthing juices of the soup. The creature, dives out of the witch's cauldron and latches onto Moe's neck, he screams bloody murder as it bites down into his jugular, spraying blood over the grimy counter. You duck under the table, to protect yourself from the rain. Barney starts barking, a raspy cough, but he knows not to get close to Moe. The bikers scream like school girls and run out the door.

Blanche yells, the play-dough in her skin dances as she hobbles away. But, of course, she is too slow to get away from the creature. It jumps across the cafe, onto her back gnawing at the folds of skin, but like a mad buffalo, she keeps charging through.The creature keeps at it, and finally finds the weak spot. Blanche roars, and falls to the ground with a thunderous slam. The creature digs into her fat, burrowing inside of her. You thank whatever god would let this happen that her cries have stopped.

Moe has a red towel, crying for his loss, around his neck. He grabs for the phone, his wet hands knock it to the floor. Moe juggles it, but finally gets a hold of it, stabbing the buttons. He curses his own poor judgement and he throws the useless plastic away. Barney, seeing Moe injured, slowly aproaches him, barking until Moe grabs him. Barney is still wheezing, but is comforted by his masters caresses.

You see the situation is calming down, that's a poor choice of words but you can't think right now. You crawl out from under the table, searching for a way out. The door is blocked by the beached whale, so the only other option is searching the back. You stand and tip toe your way to Moe, trying not to get the creatures attention. You kneel down next to the man, his stench burns your nostrils.

"You okay?" You whisper. You realize that was a dumb question.
"Is there another way out?"

Moe points with a shaking hand to a door next to the stove. You open it to see a storage room of dried goods and a big freezer. The room is dusty and unkept. You see a door behind a rack of big bags, probably flour. What a dumb place to put a rack.