Scott Keaton—How can I describe him?...

"Do you know how hard it is to keep a damn restaurant running!?" If the rage couldn't be shown in his frenetic movements, it was spat out like venom through his harsh, shrill voice. Irritating like rubbing a fork against a plate, the same desperation was felt just by listening to him.

Eccentric, perfectionist, erratic...— a drama king in every sense of the word.

"NO DAMN CUSTOMER had ever complained about my dishes before! They left satisfied with sauce residue in their dirty mouths laughing as if it were the best afternoon of their fucking life, I've seen it... I've seen it." It seemed like he was trying to convince everyone present at the group talk at the psychiatric hospital, as if he were defending himself in a trial like the best.

Owner of the restaurant "Lecter to the palate", Scott had stood out for his incredible gourmet dishes, perfect sauce, soft meat that melted in the mouth, and from time to time some crispy fries with grains of salt so exact that they seemed to be in cash— of course, until it was discovered that he used human flesh for his delicious dishes, but he had cooked it so well that no one seemed to notice until they were caught by the police in the middle of his celebration in search of more recognition.

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MANY HOURS I'VE SPENT JUST TO SHOW OFF FIVE STAR CHARITY DISHES! DO YOU THINK IT'S EASY TO GET THE RIGHT COOKING FOR EVERY TYPE OF MEAT THAT CAME TO MY CHOPPING BOARD!? AND ENTRUST MY ARTWORKS TO INCOMPETENT WAITERS?"

It was ironic considering that Scott worked alone, he was, as many would wish to be, his own boss.

"... But anyway, I'll be back in the game soon, it's just a matter of time... A matter of time..."