“Watch out below!” Bill said before tipping his bucket of urine out of the window and onto the streets. There were a couple of people who made angry noises and raised their fist to him, but nothing major; such events were common in the 21st century.
Bill chuckled. It always seemed to tickle him – watching everyone flea in different directions from his waste. He brought his head back into the building, put the bucket down and walked down the stairs, wiping his hands on his apron.
“What can I do you for, love?” He asked a woman who was perusing his produce with an intent look on her face.
“Ooh, you don’t have any pork trotters, do you?”
Bill nodded and began dealing with her order. He wiped the sweat off his brow and continued to place pork trotters into one of the butcher’s bags he had for clients’ orders. He noticed the pork trotters were the same sort of flesh as his hands: all pink and swollen.
No surprise there, he thought, since we taste a bit like piggies, allegedly.
Bill hummed a tune as he worked and before he knew it, he had handed over the order, taken the payment and was all alone again. He wiped the cold and slight wetness of the pork meat from his hands on his apron and sat down, stroking his beard.
Before long, he had fallen asleep behind the glass counter. He only woke because he heard a jingling sound.
“That’s odd.” He muttered as he jerked awake. Still half asleep, he wondered if the sound had been from his dreams. He peered around but saw nothing out of place. That was, until he heard the bell again. He looked down and saw a cat roaming in the meat display, its teeth just sinking into a link of sausages.
“Oi!” Bill said, the vein popping in his forehead. He collected his broom and almost sent the cat flying, for his aim had got better over twenty years of shooing cats from his shop.
Alas, the cat flew but maintained its firm grip on the sausage links. It barely slowed as it ran out of the shop.
Muttering to himself, Bill put the broom down and seethed as he fixed the plastic signs on the display which had been trampled by the cat. Feeling a cool breeze on his face, however, he stopped, put on his best smile and greeted the next customer.
“Twelve sausage links, please.” The woman said without so much as a “hullo”.
“Certainly, ma’am. You’re lucky they aren’t all gone – my last customer just went away with quite a few!” Bill said, jollier than ever.
He looked down and saw a tuft of ginger fur trapped in one of the plastic signs. Before the woman could notice, Bill grabbed it and threw it on the floor by his feet. He made a show of opening one of his takeaway butcher bags just in case she became suspicious, then he began stuffing the sausage links inside.
Over the past month, I have written over 12,000 words! It feels great! 🙂 I really should make a list of writing prompts I liked the sound of but didn’t get round to answering, because I’m struggling to find good ones at the moment. Ah well. Something for the future.