In the future, everyone is innocent and thus has no name. For our purposes, I will break this symmetry and call our diners A, B, and D.
"What lovely chandeliers they have!" remarked A.
This remark was studiously ignored by B, who belonged to a religious sect strictly forbidden to notice things above their heads.
D signalled a waitron by exposing herself. They were led to a pillar with many detachable spokes and chairs attached. The waitron removed the excess spokes and gave them the URL for the restaurant's menu.
The smalltalk was typically self-referential: "It's just so hard to make conversation these days, don't you think?" "Oh, yes, and especially at restaurants." To put this discussion in its proper historical context, it will be noted that verbal communication was banned a mere ten years later.
Finally, the mime appeared to take their orders. A went first.
"I'll have ten chicken eggs smashed into my chest, please. And a blowjob, please."
The mime made a cross, then an arrow, then looked inquisitive.
"Oh, male, please. But no beard, please."
The mime smiled, turned to D, and then smiled again.
"Can I be thrown in the large bowl of Cesear sald with a couple of young boys? Thanks."
B took the longest to decide. "Okay. I would like half of bioengineered pig pureed with a raspberry sauce, served on the naked bottom of a young virgin who is fingering herself to climax every five minutes. And a coke."
A and D tisk-tisked. "My god, you're a fussy eater." they said simultaneously, then laughed.
-Thomas C my near year's resolution this year: to every day, and in every way, drink a milk shake