As I was walking down a lane, I visited a popular restaurant and rang the bell. "Excuse me, good sir," I said to the man. "I would like a french fry." The man stared at me for a moment, a dull and vacant look in his eyes, then stumbled away. A few moments later he returned with the newspaper carrying my order. I received the paper, but, to my horror, there was nothing but a single pallid strip of potato. "What is this?" I inquired, quite perplexed. The man stared at the single french fry and mumbled. "You asked for a fry." I rolled my eyes and swallowed the potato. "I meant a conglomeration of french fries. A group contained in a single cup." The man slowly nodded and turned to leave. "While your back there," I called. "Bring me a soda. With cherry!" I added, at the last second. A few moments later, the man returned with my container of fried potatoes and my soda. I stared into the cup.
