Tuesday 15 September 2015

Meat Thief (FB 18th May 2015)

I was accosted in the street tonight by a meat thief. Not in the sense of anyone walking up masked and demanding I stand and de-liver, that would be odd even by Seaside City standards, but, in the absence of any apron, boater or other relevant paraphernalia that may signify butchery as a trade or profession, I feel it enormously unlikely the selected cuts on offer would have left their intended retailer's premises accompanied by an appropriate receipt.
"Do you eat meat?" was the initial enquiry. A number of interpretations of this question were still jostling with each other in my mind when clarification of sorts came by way of "Fresh meat? Do you eat fresh meat?"
A woman, in her forties, maybe older, maybe younger, hard lives make it harder to tell. Hair, dark and unremarkable framing a face riven with sharp-edged creases throwing high-contrast shadows from an unflattering street light, a black on white, DC Comic depiction of ever-scowling villainy if ever I saw one.
I mumbled an affirmative, honest answer to the question as posed and was genuinely relieved to see her rustle in an unmarked plastic carrier bag before advising me she had meat to sell. It was half past eleven on a Sunday night on the Lewes Road and I really didn't want to have to deal with a radicalised vegan.
Truthfully not boastfully and not to insult, I said I had no need of it and crossed the road away from her continuing pitch, having to repeat the same advice a little more pointedly to draw the encounter to a close.
I carried on my way without further interference and with the lesson learned that if I don't shave for a week I look like someone who might buy stolen meat on the spur of an almost midnight moment.

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