Renji opened the glass door that led into the restaurant. Dozens of shiny tables gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The smell of seared meat wafted through the air, reaching Renji's nose.
"Damn gigai," growled Renji, as his stomach rumbled at the scent of food.
"Seat yourself," said a gum-chewing waitress, dressed in a bubble-gum pink Shihakushou, plastic zanpakuto hanging at her waist.
Renji plopped down at one of the booths nearest the window. His stomach growled a second time and he made a mental note to complain to Urahara about the quality of his gigai. "Damn piece of shit," he said, under his breath. He pulled the menu out from its little chrome stand and opened it up.
Too many choices, but he narrowed it down to three:
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