I Survived What the Logs Deny (Dummy's corner table)

[Test Dummy]

I swear this tavern is cursed.

I’m sitting here, trying to enjoy a peaceful moment — mug steady, beer mat NOT attached for once, the GenXTribe cloth glaring at me from a safe distance — when suddenly…

BZZZZZZZ.

A fly.
A single, tiny, winged menace.
Hovering right above my drink like it’s inspecting the property it plans to steal.

I wave it away.
It dodges.
I wave again.
It returns — closer this time — like it’s negotiating terms.

Then it lands.
On the rim of my mug.

MY mug.
The one thing in this tavern I thought I still had control over.

I stare at it.
It stares back.
I can feel it judging me harder than the alley cat ever did.

I try to shoo it again — it lifts off, does a smug little circle, and lands on the GenXTribe cloth like it’s clocking in for work.

At this point I’m convinced the fly is part of the staff.

The tender walks by, sees me mid‑battle, and says:
“Seasonal issue, sir.”

Seasonal issue.
SEASONAL ISSUE.

This insect just violated my personal beverage space and you’re telling me it’s seasonal?

I swear the fly winked at me before taking off again.

So now I’m sitting here, guarding my mug like a paranoid dragon, waiting for the next aerial assault.

If this fly comes back, I’m filing a complaint.
A formal one.
With bullet points.
And diagrams.