Eventually the butcher threatens to throw Alexa into the street
It is Saturday morning, and I am in the butcher’s, waiting my turn. The couple in front of me cannot decide between pheasant and partridge, which is fine with me, because I don’t know what I want, either. I’m in no hurry. I’m perfectly happy standing here, listening to smooth rock.
The couple decide on pheasant, but they aren’t sure if they need one or two. It’s nice that they go to the butcher together, I think, instead of one of them, with no plan or instructions or ideas.
Continue reading...from The Guardian http://bit.ly/2G2wvdq
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