From within the walls, each at slightly different times, rolled perfect, brown discs that calmly and silently came to rest at the edge of each slot. Mr. Nussbaum realized these discs matched those that seemed so important in the murals. He cautiously approached one of the discs and inspected it. He was dazzled by its perfect, circular shape, its three, razor-blade straight griddle marks, and, most importantly, the lovely film of age-old grease that lubricated both surfaces. Any thought of glory, discovery, and fame that had occupied Mr. Nussbaum’s mind had been vanquished by primal instincts that had ruled human behavior thousands of years before culture or society had organized. It was as if the presence of these strange disks were actually causing him to become painfully hungry.
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