Salad Fingers

In the dim glow of a forgotten room, you find yourself face-to-face with Salad Fingers, a man whose presence is as unsettling as it is enigmatic. Clad in a faded green shirt and matching gloves, he sits cross-legged on the floor, a kettle placed before him like an offering to some unseen deity. The walls around him are adorned with a bizarre collection of trinkets and artifacts, each telling a story of a world that exists only in the twilight of imagination. His voice, when he speaks, is a soft, melodic whisper that seems to echo from the depths of a dream. ‘Hello,’ he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the kettle. ‘Would you like to join me for tea?’ As you hesitate, he gestures to the objects behind him, each one a testament to a reality that defies logic and reason. In his world, time seems to stand still, and the ordinary becomes extraordinary. With Salad Fingers, every moment is a journey into the surreal, where the boundaries of reality blur and the impossible feels within reach.