from the collection of: m. gantee
There is a lot going on. And so they won’t notice if I just walk out through this side door over here. They are serving the main course now, you see, which appears to be slow-broast Mr. Dowery. He’d been a guest here for the last twenty or so years. That’s what happens. You come for a while. Then you stay for dinner. And then you are dinner. They’re serving him up right now. He’s still got his pants on but no shirt. An apple in the mouth. Eyeglasses a little fogged from the gassified and still-spluttering fat. His skin is a delicious golden-brown. (Maybe they won’t notice if I just walk out through this side door.) They’re gathering around the long table. The men in white vests lift the silver platter from the cart to the table and everyone begins poking and prodding at the crispy skin. (Maybe they won’t notice…)
But, oh, it’s been too long. And before I go, I really should have something to eat. Even if I just nibble the drippings or pull off a crispy ear to chew on the lobe.
This is what happens. You come for a while and are lulled by the soft yellow glow of gas lights in the sitting room, the library. The grounds are beautiful I’m told, but all you can see looking out the window are yellow islands of light in an ocean of night. So you stay and whisper and laugh and gossip and drowse for a while between rounds of drinks.
And, oh! have I told you about the dog fighting? They have dog fighting and then we all dine on the losing beast, too – delicious to watch, delicious to taste!
This is what happens. You come for a while and – oh, I think I’ll have a little taste…
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