Meat Locker

Outside, the meat locker comes to you. The cold preserves the human cold cuts waiting for the bus, where they will spoil in the summer, sweating through their packaging. The butcher waits. The barbeque sauce is simmering, waiting for the flesh that gives up the fastest, the veal of the scumbag weak. The train keeps pushing assholes that shit themselves from stop to stop. The mail was delivered.