As continued jets of foam shoot from within, the mound of foam swells to such a size that it presses against the cafe windows. The street outside is clogged with it. A number of men and women stagger through the foam, half-blind but furiously searching through the clouds of yellow fuzz, seeking vengeance for their lost eyebrows. As the mood becomes more hostile, the feminist society melts away in the confusion.
A wall of foam blocks the doorway. "Might as well get comfortable," Nathan says. "Looks like we won't be getting back to work any time soon."
"You'd best call them. Tell them we're going to be late. "
You gather up the cups from the table. As you head to the counter to replenish your coffees, the door swings open, filling the cafe with the caustic chemical stench and a lemon-yellow abominable snowman, covered from head to foot. You give them a wide berth as they walk to the counter and request a towel. The voice underneath it is male, but as they begin to pat themselves dry, you discover...
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