Don't Open the Red Jar
"Get your aromatic pork! 60 dollars for an ounce! Once you taste it, you'll be back for life. I'll only cut the meat after you've paid. It's limited to two ounces per customer."
With a subtly sweet scent, the meat was a vibrant, gorgeous red, slicked with an enticing, glossy finish.
"Me! Cut mine for me first!"
"There's a limit? I'll go get my wife!"
…
In less than half an hour, the meat was all gone, so I closed up the stall.
Sitting in my room, I drank a cup of tea. Then I changed my clothes, picked up the iron hook, and headed to the backyard.
Under the pale moonlight, the huge jar was dark red, bordering on black.
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