cold_cuts raze she slices the lunchmeat without removing the plastic that covers it, forcing herself to peel away as many of the dark shards as her fingers can find. she never gets them all. i always end up stripping what she's missed from the edges of those eight slices of beef and pork studded with green olives. after washing my face, i found one of the synthetic specks of blue detritus embedded in my washcloth. it threw me for a minute. then i understood. you are what you eat, and i'm just another hunk of cooked meat. 220504 what's it to you? who go blather from