At this very moment, all around New York City, grown, adult humans are gathered around empty plates, clutching morsel-less silverware and hurling epithets at a faceless brand on Twiter. The only sound: A grim busy signal pulsing through the speakerphone and the low grumble of stomachs. Eyes dart to the left, to the right, sizing up companions in terms of both strength and will to live. Tonight, Seamless.com is broken—and someone will have to die.

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