As soon as Richie swallowed the bite the mob vanished. The forks and knives dropped with a collective clang to the ground. Saltshakers fell. Ketchup bottles shattered. Dust swirled. The sound of plopping ketchup replaced the mob’s screaming. Soon, french-fry people from behind trees, underneath containers, and submerged deep in Lake Ketchup started cheering for Richie.

He was a hero.