I’ve changed the names to protect the guilty…THIS IS FICTION!
At first I didn’t get it. Everybody was standing around in that crowded kitchen (small by my standards but big for Parisiens) and looking at a printed out menu of some kind.
“1PV and 2PE….” the black girl with the easy smile rolled her eyes and stuck her head in the fridge which was half full of small plastic containers of food. She moved them around and took them out examining the numbers scotched on the lids. Rosetta, the faithful Romanian who worked there two full days a week leaned against the stove smiling.
“Hmmmm Patches, there are two of these 2PE’s in here; which one do you want?”
Patches Phukitt garbbled something then “Fuck!” exploded from her lips as yet another grape fell to the floor, a seemingly endless battlefield of greens and purples taking strategic positions at her dead feet. I wondered how many she actually got INSIDE…
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