New York #7

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The mop splashes across the blood. Mr Sing, slowly moves it around in circular motions left to right. Does this happen often, I ask. Oh yes, he pauses for just a moment…picking something off of the floor. Ah! the finger!. He presents it to me on a foam tray, with a grin. Maybe Allen used to be a ten but he’s just a nine and three quarters,today. 

He continues mopping while talking he’s a good one…I’ve always enjoyed just hanging out and listening to him tell his stories about working with people. His family started the business in the 30’s so he never runs out of them.

Butchers are always cutting off limbs.But one time,I had a customer just fall out in the floor reaching for eggs. Just filleted her leg open on a basket. Blood was everywhere. Asked her if she was on any medicine…she said. ‘Oh no! no! Just blood thinner!’ I had to wrap it myself until the ambulance got here. The floor is clean. You wouldn’t know there was a finger or blood or a screaming Allen fifteen minutes ago.Kicking a trash can in the back of the store…holding his hand between his legs. I tried to get Allen out here – Mister Sing continues – but he took one look at all that blood and walked outside until she was gone.

Mister Sing hands me a brown bag over the counter. Here’s your ground chuck,and fingerless at that! He says laughing and shaking his head. I put some bbq in there also…trust me…(he spreads his hands for emphasis) you’re going to want in on that…goes on everything…put it on a salad…and it turns into meat. Ho-Hey! Have you told your sister you’re back yet?

I turn back to him and smile. Not just yet, Mister Miyagi. But don’t worry.I’ve got this. 

Don’t hide away in that apartment,Josh!

I back against the door and raise the bag.  I’m good! thanks for tha meats! 

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