A forsaken pup, the landlord polishes bored the glasses, only one guest hangs over his glass of beer in the farther end of the room. Suddenly the door gets torn opened and a man, from the rain overflowed and obviously on the run, rushes in the tavern. Nervously he requests the landlord for bolthole. The landlord complies, but only on condition that the underdog orders something to eat: "lukewarm whether brain". The haunters of the persecuted won't be long in coming.
—SPL