It's the fifth Thursday of the month, so it's time for some Clam Chowder for the Writer's Heart (which is totally not a rip off of some other kind of soup for some other kind of existential personification). However Writing About Writing is undergoing a security retrofit to deal with genocidal cephalopods and the Clam Chowder Room is inaccessible.
Plus...the A-Team we hired to help with this whole invasion thing is using the main foyer to train with the new Octorian weapons we commandeered after the battle. Even with energy expulsion weapons they can't hit...ANYTHING. Except of course to spell their name out in bullets (or energy blasts) along a wall. I don't know why they're so unbelievably good at that, but can't hit anything else to save their lives. But it is what it is. We've spent the last week trying to get them to visualize their targets as a wall....but to no avail.
Like most restaurants, we will be serving our clam chowder on Friday.