Florets sprinkled like vegetarian glitter, glued to the edges of my face by a thick concoction of egg and oil.
Abysmal. Like an endless cavern lined with incisors and spit, dragging its victim in with the gravitational pull of a black hole.
There's a sullen familiarity when the only thing left behind after such vegnivourous carnage is it's core. Stripped, and bare.
End scene.