Rusty Mesa air hangs toxic, and unclean, ammonia and nat gas in a red vapor sheen. The cookout’s on behind the oily door, where cyborgs and drifters settle the score.. ninja cyborg Chef Daganaki tends flames no rest, face all smoke, grin like a test. He flips the crawl burger with a sizzling screaming sound, says “Hold it down or it’ll crawl off the ground.” The Oily Toxic one foot dog slips through the service hole, nuked burnt and smoking, hot, with a life of its own. “Eat it whole, no chewing allowed,” Daganaki laughs at the red eyed crowd. “Choke it down and the next one’s free, that’s the Oily Hole challenge for thee.” Exitgate blares from a busted speaker, bass so low it makes the bots dance around like cybernetic tweekers . The red vapors toxic stench curls round your head, mixes with a greasy thickness, hanging in the air. Humans gag, cyborgs just chew, Daganaki winks, says “That’s nothing new.” He tosses another crawl burger to the line, “Welcome to hell, but the meat’s just fine.” So raise your cup if you’re brave enough here, to the cookout, the stench, and the chef without fear. In the Oily Hole where the wild ones dine, Chef Daganaki’s cooking, and it’s yours on the Rusty Mesas dime
