Unapologetically Sorry

For twoday, I'd like to snare a beef snort borey...

On A Sunny Afternoon In the South of France by Pyle Bother

“A slab of your leanest 12oz., please.”

The Butcher’s eyes took their time in registering my face, something I’d eventually get used to in the next week or so when there would actually be something of substance to stare at. Some discoloration was sure to be expected, maybe a slight deformation in the long term, but now in its early stage nothing too out of the ordinary, visually speaking. There was a touch of tenderness about the socket though, and a little swelling, a fact that had resulted in effectively putting me in my current location. As much as I despise old wives' tales the prospect of immediate soothing was all to pleasing, and once the Butcher felt satisfied with what he saw and turned to chop, I was allowed to wince to myself as I took a seat near the window. I began to figure. I figured there would be other opportunities. I figured there would be other women. I figured there would be other Tuesdays. I figured the cost of my steak. I figured I had the cash. I figured I would soon lose the meaning of the word figured, but then I figured I didn’t really care so much, as I don’t really use the word figure, or any of its variations, regularly enough to really miss it for the amount of time it will gone from my memory. I figured how many times you’d actually have to use a word before it’s meaning is lost. Then I figured 13.

“One 12oz. Sirloin, anything else?” The Butcher’s voice crackled like a chest cold through the bland meat market.
“No, sir.”
“12 Euro.”

The change in my pocket was two cents short, but I don’t think he cared. He’d read enough of my Life Story by now to know that “Two Cents Short” was only Chapter Three. Sensing the amounting pity, I unwrapped the Butcher’s handy work, slapped the beef over my left eye and headed for the door.
Standing in the warm sun, squinting my uncovered eye, I began to wonder. I wondered what benefit placing a section of dead cow on my bruising face did. I wondered how long it would take to swell shut. I wondered if maybe I should have ducked. I wondered “what now?” I wondered… I stopped wondering. I wanted to keep that word around for a while, it seemed useful, so I started to wander.

.The Bend.