As it turned out, you had a job in a restaurant. It wasn't a really high class restaurant, but it wasn't a McDonalds either. It was called "Il Pollo che Arde," and they served Italian food. You were too small to be a waiter or a chef, so you were a chef's assistant. You did several small things around the kitchen, and you do mean small - picking up bits of salt and pepper, chopping garlic into very small cloves, etc. They kept you on a small ledge above one of the stoves. While some people had protested your working in such an environment, you do have to say the owners arranged it well, and you had never ended up in a food dish or gotten accidentally swallowed, not even once. However, that might change soon.
Your wife drove up to the restaurant and carried you to the kitchen. She said goodbye, then left for her own job. As you waited on the ledge, you smelled the fumes of marinara sauce and other stuff.
Soon the chef who watched over you came over to the ledge. Her name was Hannah. She was 30 years old, and African-American. She wore an apron over a t-shirt, jeans, and boots. She regarded you mainly as a coworker but she also helped you a lot of the times. Sometimes you could tell she had a mild lust for you, though.
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