Quite a mouthful

“Becoming a bit of an habitue of that burger van, aren’t you?”, asked Bruce.

It was true. Ever since he’d started parking outside the office I’d taken to having my lunch there. My weight had ballooned in the 6 weeks I’d been dining alfresco. Perhaps it was time to cut back a little, but honestly the thought of those juicy burgers and crisp fries was enough to make me forget that I was rapidly closing in on that zone called obesity.

I grunted my reply through a mouthful of meat, ‘slaw, grease, onions and tomatoes. Keep McDonald’s – they weren’t a patch on these ‘meaty mouthfuls’, as they were called.

“You haven’t been to the gym for a while. Why don’t you cut back on that muck and come with me on Friday?”

“Yeah, why not. I could do with a workout.”

With that I nodded my goodbyes, still masticating my meaty mouthful. Heh, sounded like a cheap porno film. Bruce walked off in the opposite direction, shrinking with every step, until he was almost a dot in the distance. When I was sure he’d gone I double backed to the burger van and got a small burger, just to finish off.

Come Friday I had a double meaty mouthful, even though I was meeting Bruce at the gym after work. I shouldn’t really have had the extra mayo. When my chest felt tight as I did some vigorous stair-climbing I thought it was indigestion and pushed through the pain. Burn, baby, burn. Jane Fonda was right; no pain, no gain. But the burn got worse and the inevitable happened: myocardial infarction. I had a heart attack. Dropped dead on the spot.

Bruce was there when they arrested the burger van owner. He hadn’t caused my heart attack – that was my own weight and lack of conditioning. But he had used human meat in his burgers. My autopsy proved that, apparently. Seems he trafficked in refugees. Any who couldn’t pay enough were used as the raw ingredients for the burgers. By all accounts his freezers were full of the choicest cuts of meat – all human, of course. Tender leg of Sam, Amon the bone and minced feet.

My funeral was attended by my family and friends. All distraught, naturally, that I had been taken in by Mick and his meaty mouthfuls and paid the ultimate price.

I’d always had a favourite. A meaty mouthful made from rump, succulent, tender and rare. Yes, I knew it was human. I’d always known. I’d just liked the taste too much to care.

© write-now 2006. No reproduction without express permission

This story was inspired by the word habitue, from dictionary.com