Your hunger gets the best of you, and you decide it couldn't hurt to stop at the restaurant and grab a quick bite - or at least you think it's a restaurant, as curiously the establishment seems to have no sign or name, despite being a clearly popular dining spot packed with customers. Upon entering a waiter quickly greets you and takes you to a table near the middle of the restaurant, leaving you a menu and politely excusing himself while you skim through it.
As you browse, seeing a wide variety of different cuisines, some of your natural inclinations take over and you start subconsciously teasing with your feet, first letting your flip-flops dangle a bit, then drop to the floor, suddenly making you realize what you're doing. But you don't stop anyways, keeping your soles bared and freely visible, toes wiggling comfortably, wondering if maybe the sight of them will attract your admirer - though you'd also be satisfied just teasing any poor soul there who happens to have a foot fetish.
With your spot right in the middle of the restaurant, your soles feel like a prime target, and you love it. With the place this busy, there's a good chance your foot stalker is around, but for now your waiter returns to the table.
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