Hotel Food

       The bread was hard and the filling was some
kind of potted meat with a bit of mustard.
       Phoebe’s face fell when she saw them. “What’s this?”
       I tore the sandwich apart with relish. “Food,” I said
between bites.
       “Are you sure? What kind of meat is this?”
       "Jesus, I don’t know. The kind that comes in a can.”
       “This came out of a can? We preserve fruits and such
at home, but not meat. Are you sure it’s safe?”
       “It’s all I ate when I was in the army.”
       “General Sherman said ‘war is hell.’ I didn’t know
that’s what he meant.”
       “You get used to it.”
       “But…what sort of animal is it?”
       I shrugged. “The tasty kind. It probably had hooves.
Who knows? Just eat it.”
       “It looks old.”
       “It is. But the canning process preserved it.” I
laughed. “You would never have made it in the city,
you silly minx. Everything comes in a can, not just
preserves.”
       I sipped my coffee and watched with amusement as
the country girl’s hunger finally won out. She choked
the sandwich down like she was eating a raw lamprey.

[Excerpt from VACANT GRAVES, coming this February]