THE LEGEND OF SULLIVAN

Man born in dust. He strolled into town, dragging a filthy cooler behind him, shirtless as hell, mumbling curses that nobody could understand. No one knew where he came from, no one knew where the bastard would go next. They say he never blinks unless he's brawling with the local livestock. Rumor has it, he once slapped a goat clean across the face because it “stole his sauce.”

The meat? Oh, we’ve got it, all right. You might not want to ask too many questions about its origin, though. The sauce? If you dare to try it, it just might crawl inside your goddamn soul. He cooks without pants half the time, free-balling it over an open grill because he likes the ‘dangerous breeze.’ This place ain’t for the faint of heart. If you can’t handle the heat, or the stench, you’d best get the hell out while you still can.

Legend says the first time Sullivan lit his grill, entire swarms of insects dropped from the sky—poisoned by the fumes of charred, unidentifiable meats. Folks talk of horrifying late-night deliveries: chunk-filled sacks arriving at his back door, dribbling something that glowed under moonlight. Nobody’s sure if it’s pig, cow, or some other creature that only Sullivan’s twisted mind could conjure up.

Word spread across every broken-down highway diner about this half-naked, unholy chef. Daredevils, thrill-seekers, and sick freaks who crave bizarre cuisine have come from all corners of the earth just to watch him slap a slab of ‘mystery flesh’ onto a grill. Some swear the meat moans before it hits the fire. Others say the sauce can bring your worst nightmares to life—and you’ll still lick the plate clean like a crazed animal.

Don’t even get me started on the fights. Oh yeah, there are fights. When the hunger takes over, and that rancid, spiced aroma floods your nostrils, people lose their goddamn minds. Tables get flipped, chairs get broken, and someone always ends up puking out back in the alley. Sullivan just stands there, half-grinning, scratching his chest hair, flipping patties like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

So, wander in if you’re brave—or stupid. Order the special if you have a death wish. And if you see him eyeballing you from across the room, staring at you with those unblinking eyes, maybe it’s time to back off. Because if Sullivan decides you’re on the menu, well, let’s just say you’ll leave this place as more than just a paying customer.