FOG02
CAFE AND DINER RECEIPT FROM 10/05/17
EMPLOYEE 1313
RECEIPT: MRSAMSAIM02
STATUS: OPEN
Nine feet tall and thin as death,
The air itself is trapped beneath her breath.
With every movement she creates,
Pools of silky smog in her wake.
We arrived in the marshes of white and were greeted with quite the home-fried fright. The ghoulish Amsaim and her fiendish gas do consume this godforsaken morass. The tourists fear what they cannot know, and it is clear that this fog simply won't go. Keep in mind one must never meet her icy stare, or else their lungs will lose their air. While death waits patiently at the door, no tourists have greeted him yet of that, I'm sure.
I've seen her glide from glade to glen in the early hours of morning's zen. Juice of orange seems the goal, for juice alone, might have me lose my soul. It might be wise to book her flight if we can find an airport near these planes of white. The texter has taken the task of taking tourists away, while the cowboy has decided he would rather stay and play. Though he has yet to confront the fog head-on, I fear a confrontation won't be long.
Though there is something funny about Mrs. Amsaim that sets her apart from Stevens and Honey. I believe she might be a fan of small talk and chit-chat, and if that is the case, well, we can give that a try at bat. We haven't had the pleasure of speaking to a customer who was once laid in a sepulcher, though prior to speaking with her, we need to confer. Does the risk outweigh the reward? Or will we only be heading toward the lord?