August Flasher - Untitled by Steve
Three identically cut slices of meat; two tomatoes, ditto; a bunch of scallions; red lettuce; dill pickle; soft boiled egg; a liberal dollop of Heinz’ finest mayonnaise substitute. The perfect platter.
Replacing the half-eaten roasted femur in the ice-box, Miss Matthews sighed. If things carried on this way, soon she’d have to go on rations. She bit her lip.
“Don’t be so ungrateful, Gladys,” she said to herself, “enjoy the moment. The Lord will provide.”
Smiling again, she returned to the kitchen table and picked up her fork. She licked her lips.
“There’s nothing so tasty as a bit of thigh meat before bed."
The first forkful of tender pink meat had barely brushed her lips when she noticed the shaking. She stopped in mid flow and listened. Something heavy. A lorry maybe. Unable to control her curiosity, she returned the implement to her plate, and, grabbing her wooden walking stick with its mysterious dark patches, hobbled down the hall and into the living room.
The tiniest flick of the bay window lace curtains gave her all the information she needed. A removal truck. Parked outside the brownstone opposite. It looked like number 1139 was about to get new people.
Miss Matthews picked at the patches of hair on her stick as four large men let down the tailgate of the truck and began dragging out heavy brown furniture.
“About time,” she muttered, nodding to herself, “the just street didn’t look right with all that police tape flapping about the house. No. Not right at all.”
Now it looked like things would be getting back to normal. And just in time for Christmas too.
A station wagon pulled up behind the truck. A smiling woman got out followed by a tall, handsome man and one, two, three plump children.
Miss Matthews smiled and licked her lips again.
Replacing the half-eaten roasted femur in the ice-box, Miss Matthews sighed. If things carried on this way, soon she’d have to go on rations. She bit her lip.
“Don’t be so ungrateful, Gladys,” she said to herself, “enjoy the moment. The Lord will provide.”
Smiling again, she returned to the kitchen table and picked up her fork. She licked her lips.
“There’s nothing so tasty as a bit of thigh meat before bed."
The first forkful of tender pink meat had barely brushed her lips when she noticed the shaking. She stopped in mid flow and listened. Something heavy. A lorry maybe. Unable to control her curiosity, she returned the implement to her plate, and, grabbing her wooden walking stick with its mysterious dark patches, hobbled down the hall and into the living room.
The tiniest flick of the bay window lace curtains gave her all the information she needed. A removal truck. Parked outside the brownstone opposite. It looked like number 1139 was about to get new people.
Miss Matthews picked at the patches of hair on her stick as four large men let down the tailgate of the truck and began dragging out heavy brown furniture.
“About time,” she muttered, nodding to herself, “the just street didn’t look right with all that police tape flapping about the house. No. Not right at all.”
Now it looked like things would be getting back to normal. And just in time for Christmas too.
A station wagon pulled up behind the truck. A smiling woman got out followed by a tall, handsome man and one, two, three plump children.
Miss Matthews smiled and licked her lips again.
posted by Grendel at 4:15 PM
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