As he worried over whether to enter the restaurant, a sudden pang of hunger hit him, making his decision for him. He opened the car door and slid out, his legs buckling for only a moment, still unused to the added weight. His stomach was bowed out before him. He shuddered and headed inside. He selected a table in a corner, where he was less likely to be noticed. "How stupid," he grumbled to himself. "It's not like anyone would recognize me..." The waitress sauntered up. "what can I get you, hun?" His stomach growled loudly and Andrew ducked his head sheepishly. "Um... a B-BLT, please..." His stomach growled louder. "I mean-three. Three BLTs." The waitress gave him a strange look, then left. Andrew hoped she didn't notice him nearly doubled over. As soon as the food arrived, he tore into it with a vengeance. With every bite, his stomach edged out only millimeters more, yet near the end of his gorging he felt something cold brush against it. He jumped, then looked down, realizing there were nearly twelve or so plates in front of him and his stomach was brushing against the table's edge. The waitress was next to him, looking as though she'd run a marathon. "Anything else?" At her question, Andrew looked up at her, then back down at the table. Without even realizing it, he'd ordered more food than he'd ever seen in his life. To his utter disbelief, his stomach was still growling. "Ice cream sundae. Slice of pie." he said almost automatically, and the waitress returned with the food in a moment. Mechanically, Andrew began to eat again. The brush against the cold table top became solid contact, and his jeans were rubbing raw tracks around his enormous gut. The solid contact became uncomfortable, and he tried to ease back, but the booth wouldn't allow him any more room than he had. Even as he finished the meal, asked for his check, his stomach pressed hard against the table, still growing. The small indent in his flesh started to be swallowed up, his gut inching over and underneath it, spreading slightly across the table. Andrew winced in pain and horror- he was stuck. Wedged in. He tried to shift his weight, but it was no use. At least he thought the growing had stopped. The waitress set the check on his table, looking disgusted. He tried to reach for it, but he could hardly lean forward. He strained, hearing the table (which was bolted to the floor, dammit all...) groan in protest. Finally, he grabbed it after hearing seams break open on his jeans in a few places. "Shit," he muttered, leaving the cash on the table and inspecting his body. "I've gotta get outta here. I need to go back to china town, get the guy to give me an antidote. Or something..." He finally got free of the booth and stood up, sweating with the effort. His gut was huge, trembling before him and packed tight. he began the waddle back out to his car.