Gasoline Buffet

Posted: June 30, 2014 in Uncategorized

As the hinged jaws clamped down, tearing through flesh, muscle, fat, and dressings, the sweet, spicy brownish-red lifeblood squirted out with high pressure onto the hands, onto the shirt. What was supposed to be a flavorful yet delicately consumed bit of nourishment stained skin, stained shirt, stained pants. The only solace in all of this was that it was laundry day. Because of that, these markings would not live long. Had it not been a day for the cleansing of garments, the effects of this moment might have lingered, might serve as an awkward reminder that yes, eating is a thing that people do and like all animals it is not always graceful, and a calling card back to the simpler days when there was only a man and his sandwich, far from the reach of quarterly budget reviews or conference calls with Malaysia. The stain would be eradicated long before any of that could take place. Long before this pretender could remember that he was base animal.

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