"I'd like a table for one, please," you tell Wong, your shirt collar completely red from the blood that had dripped out of your nose and down to your chin, where it has been slowly dropping off.

"Ah, right this way!" Wong leads you through a maze of tables and finally stops at a small stool in the back corner of the restaurant. "Sit on the floor, the stool is your table. Sorry, we'd be able to accommodate better if you had two people, but nobody eats alone anymore, so we're not prepared."

"That's ok," you say. "By the way, is there anything I can use to stop this bleeding?"

"Use your fingers," Wong says, illustrating by shoving his fingers up your nose. "Whoa, that's disgusting!"

Wong then takes his fingers back, wipes them on the wall next to you, and hands you a small, folded piece of blue construction paper that has the word "MENU" scrawled on top. There are two choices for food, which one do you take?

The "Specialty" Lo Mein, or the buffet