"...What the hell is this? Mystery meat?" "Ain't no mystery 'bout it. It's what a Hutt fergot ta flush." Cami Sookanado wrinkled up her green snout, the disgust further reflected in her large round eyes. The amorphous mass haphazardly spattered on her plate certainly resembled such plumbing backwash and had a pungent smell to match. Not very appetizing at all, and Cami considered herself to have a very broad taste. She shook her head, making her way through the line and toward an empty table. Decent food, she surmised, was yet another freedom the district had taken away. You do wrong and you're not even permitted to enjoy a palatable meal. Even if that apparent wrong was more of something devised by the Department of Corrections, relating to a miss-communication, and applying to the dodgy