Scrubman and the greasy mirror luncheon

You look at the relic of an unforgettable luncheon, it is but a shadow of it's former glory, it's buttery crusts now parched and misshapen, seriously what the fuck dude, you just left the remainders of your hams out to rot in the un-sun flowing through your empty window. For some reason you feel compelled to take it, occupying your right hand.
The room is basically the same but now you are holding something.