A Red Breakfast by Graham Crisp

“Have you seen those two weirdos in the corner?” 

Bill, the cafĂ© owner, flicked a greasy thumb in the direction of two hooded youths. His cook, and wife of twenty-five years, threw a weary glance across the room. She saw two pale faces poking out of two black hoods, one male and the other female. 

“They’ve ordered two full English’s, take them over when they’re done will you love, I’m going outside for a fag.” 

The cook filled two plates, “Here you go, would you like red or brown sauce? 

The hooded pair looked up, the male hood answered, “Red, and can we have two more tomato juices, please?” 

After a few mouthfuls, the female hood spoke, “How did you get on last night? Any luck?” 

“Nah, I went clubbing, trying to discover a virgin amongst that lot, was like trying to find an alcoholic in a milk bar! What about you?” 

The female hood smiled a toothy grin, “Well, I had a brainwave. I slipped into the Kent Academy for Boys, that posh residential school. There were virgins aplenty. I had the time of my life!” 

“Nice, so where are you sleeping it off today? Are you going back to the Peters-Kipling mausoleum?” 

“Yes, I love the comforts of the Peters-Kipling family. What about you? Still roughing it in the City Cemetery?” 

“No, I’m not going back there. I’m off to Johnson’s Funeral Directors, they’re closed until Monday, so I’ll have the place to myself. Wait a min …. is that your blood? There, on your sleeve?” 

He stared as she dipped her fingertip into the red stain and licked it. “No not mine, that blood is male, probably from last night”. 

As they get up to leave, the cook calls out, “Who ordered two steaks?” The pair shuddered. “Not us.”

Published in Issue #7

No comments:

Post a Comment