A plate of food

It was an ordinary day at Phil's bar. Most of the customers had gone home after a night of boozing. As the first rays of sunlight lit up the hulls of the airships in Westbridge airship park, Ror was still about. He wasn't sure why he hadn't gone home yet, but he just didn't feel like going right now. Instead he watched the light creep through the window. A new day had come and Phil was cleaning up the glasses, drying them off and putting them back on the shelf for tonight. The clickety-clack noises of the crab's scissors in one corner and the ringing of glasses behind the bar were soothing. After a while Ror's gaze fell on the plate with left-over food. It was on the bar and carelessly left behind by one of the customers that apparently had not been able to stomach more than half of the food offered. Perhaps it was a lack of salt? Perhaps the man had just not been hungry after all the drink? From the other side of the room came the smell of the food, and it didn't smell too good actually. Ror muttered under his breath about the quality. Perhaps the food had been on the bar for the entire night? Who knew. But bacteria and flies were by now investing their time and energy in it.  And with Phil too busy, Ror decided to help the old bartender out a bit. He walked over to the bar and fetched a cloth from it, using it as a protective to grab the plate with it. He placed it on the ground in front of the crab and watched how the crustacean gobbled it all up. Ror tossed the cloth back behind the bar, gave a small salute to Phil, then pushed the door open and left the bar. In the morning light Ror walked through Westbridge back home. He smiled as the light made him squint. Life was good.