Ciao, Sandro


I found myself in a—what's the opposite of a shoebox?

This was my first time here—away from home. My mother's expression had been priceless and so were the five seconds she'd to digest my statement: I'd like to visit Suite di Agosto, with special interest in the cellar and kitchen. However, my anticipation was a waste of energy. Partly. While the cellar was like the milky way in intrigue, this place reeked of death.

As a result, saliva filled my mouth. I didn't turn back though. Curiosity was my second nature, so I ambled in and stopped right at the center of the room. A partition separated it into two. According to the signs on each, they were poultry and red meat sections.

My mother always liked to be precise even when it wasn't necessary. I saw no reason why there'd be a sign to tell one section from the other when you could easily see with your eyes the stuff that went on there.

Protocols, my mind chipped in.

Workers bowed at me. Oddly, I didn't gloat. I'd gotten u
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