Grind Room

You get to the Grind Room, and the odious fragrance of broken dreams weaves its way into your nostrils. The place appears to be empty, until you hear someone stumble through a pile of empty beer cans in the back room. A portly figure emerges through the doorway, trips, falls, and crashes through a table. You saunter over, and there, looking up at you, foul-smelling and beady eyed, is Santa. As we all know, Santa spends the Christmas off-season in Potato Town, unwinding from the monumental stress and riff-raff he endures while trying to bring joy to the masses of expectant children the world over. Plus, Santa just needs some time away from the Mrs., so he comes here to get his grind on.

“What’s up Santa?” you say.

“Figgypudding. Are you enjoying your Chia Pet?”

“It’s pretty cool. I’ve never had one before. Say, you haven’t seen the hot, adulterous wife around here, have you?”

“No sir. Even if she has been here I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

“How could you not notice her?”

“Because I’ve been drinking for three days, the bulk of which has been spent in the back room beating and torturing my least-productive elves.”

“Haha, yes! I love it when you’re in town, Santa. Never a dull moment. Well, I’ve gotta get going if I’m gonna solve this case.”

“Can I come?” he asks, sounding quite desperate I might add.

Do you:

Let Santa tag along.

Leave him here to wallow in his crapulence.

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