Frankie McCafferty

Cortland opens the door of the shop.

Are you there, Willie?

I am, Shirley.

Ever reliable, ever willing.

Wee Willie Wagtail Willie.

Willie appears, T-bone in hand.

Cortland puts the bone within three-legged dog's reach.

The dog lies down to see it better, regards the bone, then lifts his head and winks at Cortland.

The dog would have said...

Willie, the ever-willing wee Willie Winky of a butcher, having completed 32 years of a 55-year apprenticeship, has the display perfectly set out in his own ordered sausages rashers white and black pudding way.

Curly lamb cutlets to the front, steak burgers, mince, sirloins, ribloins, eye of rounds, and all the pork ribs, shanks, skirts, briskets, and rounds of the whole string-tied housewife's choice of the whole butchered world.

That's the only certainty we have left now, Willie says, chopping a lamb cutlet.

Cortland shudders, then puts on his long plastic apron and his white 1917 Scuttling of the Battleship Potemkin butcher's hat.

The first customer of the day, first customers in and first customers straight up to the counter.

The Right Reverend Father Circumspect S.J.

of the Parochial Hall.

Father never take a bite out of a stone wall, buying meat off a Protestant because he has to.

Late of the missions, now home to care for his greatly diminishing flock with his greatly diminishing interest.

Father, circumspect eyes the wares, warily.

He moves his glasses onto the tip of his nose to get a better look.