IT'S THE LUNCH RUSH at Lemuel's Family Restaurant. Cooks hustle in every direction, trying to work around a certain bus boy who is seriously underfoot.

A college-boy gleam just noticeable in his eyes, Spencer explores the kitchen as if it were a wonderful alien planet. Mouth writhing, he sounds out the list of ingredients on a big carton labeled LEMCO'S DEEP FRY BATTER MIX. He struggles through the catalogue of additives on a slab of processed lard, bound for the vats that seethe on all sides. He passes over the few bags of frozen carrot slivers and flaccid lettuce leaves.

"Visible buns. Treat like orange and turquoise confetti. Except more sparing."

Spencer examines the dead meat with both attraction and revulsion. He gingerly approaches a defrosting hamburger patty, and is just reaching out a large meat fork to prod it, when...

"Hope I'm not in your way, Spazzer." The fry cook elbows him aside. "You got it bass-ackwards. I make the shit, you shovel it. This is the shit-making zone."

The teen dish washer chimes in. "Yeah. The Board of Health would close us down if they saw something like you crawling back here."