the butcher's son

Off an old side road, by some rickety train tracks, there was a peculiar butcher shop.

The Butcher lived and worked there with his son, his young apprentice.

Today was the son's 18th birthday, but it was just another day.

The son went downstairs and prepared his knives and machines for the day.

He was excited for this special day. He gets to work with a cut of meat he never has before.

He spent a week gathering it. You needed to get variety.

A fat truck driver would be good for gumbo, a young trainer for a roast, whatever was left for sausage.

Getting the cuts wasn't too difficult. The knives did struggle cutting through the joints and tendons. But the meat was ready for meals and selling.

This meat's taste really depended on the source. Some is gamey, some sour, some savoury. It was a delicious gamble.

He learned a lot about this from his father. When he told him about mother.

The Butcher's son wished he could ask his father for a recommendation. But that moment has passed.

Back when he found his father hanging in the freezer. A meat hook around his neck like a gripping snake.

Perhaps, when he was more experienced, he could take some cuts from that source. So the snake eats it's own tail.

But that was another day, he thought, over the roaring grind of the machine. The sausage was ready to be stuffed.

A ring of a bell could be heard over the train. A customer was here. And they were ready to be served.