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  • Writer's pictureJames Kidac

dairy milk

dave was happy. delicious. absolutely marvelous. this is the best milk i have tasted, smooth and rich, not the powdery things you get in a typical supermarket. yes, i will want to know where you got that stuff, joe. clearing his throat, joe continued to stare at the white wall for a while. they were in dave's standard apartment in a forgettable street of no bearings. the living room was big, painted white, decorated with polished furnitures made of fine rosewood in italian hands, and fancy paintings, those you get at a pound store. there it was a bottle of milk emptied left on a flaky cupholder on the table. dave, so long your enjoying it, i am happy. joe, staring away, said in stutters, first shaking his head, then choking and sniffing, covering his face, smacking his lips and grinning from ear to ear, for he knew something dave didn't and that was that. anyone can see joe was a crook by nature, dresscode being anything ostentious, normally a loud t shirt and floppy jeans, with a body slim and lengthy hands and legs ready to run, he had small shifty ratty eyes, avoiding troublemakers at all costs. joe was always thinking two steps ahead to misfortune some unwitting cad. however, that being said, joe wasn't the brightest of crooks, having flung high school early and pursuing his career as a villain when obviously a normal person would at least learn the capacity to be cunning before throwing his future away. with a wave of his hand, joe sprung up and walked around the living room, eyes looking left and right, right and left, as if appraising the total worth of dave's possessions, as if nicking and picking. raising a brow, dave couldnt see anything wrong but he played along anyways, he asked joe what was it that joe did? joe said nothing. he prodded on persistently and finally joe rolled his eyes, and slowly said, brother you have lived a good life, earning slowly these possessions that are soon going to be mine. in truth of life you have worked very hard for joe and you deserve to go. painfully and eatting faece, just as i saw a real cow eatting its own dung and then me bottling its milk and giving it to you. seconds i presume you have. well joe, you got me and good. but that milk wouldn't kill me, only disgust and make me swear off milk for a year at most. even that is a stretch! a bemused and bloated dave said ponderously, hoping for a weak counteranswer that will not seal his fate. oh yes dave, but see i hold this empty bottle now.

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