Pho Kinh Do — Spring Valley — 11:44 AM

A lone diner sits at a two top against the wall anxiously tapping a Federal Express package sitting on his lap while waiting for the restaurant server to finish writing down his order: pho dac biet and a crab juice. The server finally stops scratching in his notebook and leaves the table. The patron immediately puts the parcel on the table before him and removes the packaging.

Sebastian Blax: Awwwwww yeeeaaaaahhhhh. Got my Raiders season ticket package here today. Inaugural Vegas season in a brand new stadium. Oh! Yeah! This is dope! Check out this finely engraved packaging! Very elite.

He opens the lid, his mouth gaping at the high quality visual of the game day scene.

Yeah! Dope! This place is gonna look so sharp when we can finally get fans back in the stadiums. Sure, I’m not happy about the season being without fans but, honestly, other than a couple games I’d probably just be scalping most of these bad boys. The NFL game day experience is too long and too exhausting.

He pulls out a letter from the team owner, mumbling the words under his breath as he reads. His eyes begin to tear.

I hope to see you all soon, too. But this is a health thing, right? I mean, sure, all the images of armed lunatics protesting mask policies outside the governors mansion show me comorbidity machines all living a lifestyle entrenched in a cocktail of obesity, diabetes, artery blockage, and some concoction of daily pill shots that include a boner supplement. But it’s protecting the kids, right? My sacrifices are getting them back in school and getting an education, right? Then it’s worth it. I mean, even though I really would like to be there for opening day in this stadium.

Wiping a lone tear from his eye, he spots a ribbon and pulls up, removing the roof from the toy stadium. The item begins playing Autumn Wind.

Got my replica of the Death Star here. That’s going to look sick on the shelf in my office. I mean, I don’t fly Allegiant but whatever. Dirty mother….jeeze. I would be there! Right there! That’s my view right there! But no! I can’t enjoy this in person because some idiot ate a bat! Thanks, idiot! What did I do to deserve this taunting? Don’t I work hard? Don’t I love my family? Why me? Why am I being asked to make this sacrifice while everyone else gets to spend their weekends doing boat parades for the president?

He sees a piece sticking out from beneath the letter from Mark Davis.

Here’s the game tickets I could have enjoyed if not for the fucking World Health Organization dropping the ball on this stupid virus so they could attack my Christian faith! I was so looking forward to hosting the Chiefs too. Don’t care for their team but you have to give respect to an organization that won’t fold to the cancel culture of the extreme Russian left. That’s why I boycott Goodyear tires! If it weren’t for China creating this problem, I’d be rolling to the games on BF Goodriches. But no, now I can’t. And why? Because of China! Oh, seriously? And and an inaugural season patch?! Come on!

I could have worn that thing on my Derek Carr jersey! This is such bullshit! This isn’t right! Someone needs to pay for my misery here!

The server returns to the table and quietly places the full order before the patron. As he turns to return to the kitchen, the patron addresses him.

Hey! Hey! What are you gonna do about my season tickets, man? This is fucking bullshit! You can’t treat me this way! I HAVE RIGHTS! Don’t just stand there with a blank look on your face like you don’t speak English! This is America! And you can’t treat people this way! You fucking socialist! Hey! Don’t you walk away from me! Don’t you go back in that kitchen! HEY! Get your ass out of that kitchen right now! I’m not done talking to you!

The patron stands up and begins approaching the swinging kitchen doors. As he moves to push one open, he sees a cork board displaying an array of local business cards covering any service from insurance to real estate to cosmetology. He picks a yellow one off the bottom right corner and grins, returning the push pin to the display. He begins walking out of the business. calling back as he exits the door.

Don’t you worry! I’ll handle this, America style! You G** D*** bunch of G**ks! MAGA!