Soul's Hand


You were in for a long stretch when company was coming from the Mainland. The whole natural order of things was thrown into the grinder, mangled up, or worse, taken to the circular bone saws, whizzing like hungry chainsaws that will, trust me, take a finger tip off in nano-seconds.


It started with the summer line-up change, and then it became the mid-season thing to do. The “big-wigs from the mainland” would spring down for a weekend of “inspections, dinners, hotel, bitta golf” as George would coyly observe. Each time we were pre-warned, and thus each time we’d acquiesce to, the lonely dance of the overnight meat room-worker.


I enjoyed all their company over the years, don’t get me wrong; Eddie-from-town could tell you a different joke every night amidst a string of old ones, the occasional line changed to maintain freshness. We initially had a hard…

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