Charring on the ribs and another day, another dollar.
She worked at the barbecue shack and was accustomed to being alone. Always watching the meat get tender. Waiting for the moment of the pork shoulder to release it’s juices. Ready for fresh baked buns from the baker that came in at 2am.
Some days she’d be so lonely she’d sit to chat while the baker came in and she was leaving.
Like she was living there. A walking embodiment of food. Who knows.
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