My Dinner with Ferdinand
by Benjamin Tinker

three steps of cow turning into a store-sold package of beef

Ferdinand was not the first person Ghandi talked to when he started making calls and checking in.

But when he did get him on the other end they agreed to meet up later that night.

They recapped their day to each other.

Neither watched more than about five minutes of the TV coverage, and most of their friends and family in NYC had been reached and accounted for. Luckily none of them had any reason to be in that area of town at that time of day. Most of them were unemployed.

"The possibility of one of them being down there to work some stupid temp job so that they could make rent made me almost vomit my breakfast," said Ghandi to Ferdinand.

Ghandi said that having felt a sensory overload, he slept for about 6 hours that day, then tried to divert his thoughts with the sci-fi adventure novel he had been slogging through for the past 2 months.

Ferdinand had tended to his garden, listening to his collection of Doc Watson CDs.

Neither felt up to cooking so they stepped out into the world and discussed the possibility of stopping in a restaurant for dinner.

Weather-wise, it had been a beautiful day.

The evening had let a cool breeze into the empty, quiet, dark city streets.

Many shops and restaurants were closed early that evening, with exception of some bars, which, although serving a handful of patrons, seemed comparatively quiet to all previous nights.

Finally happening upon a snall Italian bistro, they sat down for some wine and pasta.

"I suppose our lives will be different now, but for all the wrong wee-sons," said Ferdinand, his nose ring giving him a unique nasal-lisp.

"Yep," replied Ghandi solemnly, studying the couple at the bar at the other end of the quiet and half full restaurant.

The couple he was observing consisted of another bull, with many scars along his backside, and a bear.

The bear was ranting about this and that and throwing back shots of Vodka at a rate that resulted in him spinning and collapsing to the floor before Ghandi and Ferdinand had finished their meal.

The bull at the bar slowly chewed his large steak that he had drowned in A-1 sauce, eyes glued to the TV.


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