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Fast Food
I used to love to go to the ultimate fights in Las Vegas. What could be a better time than to watch two people beat each other, one to the edge of consciousness and the other, to death? But now, the idea of the roaring crowd, and the beating that would go on until someone was scraped up off the floor, made me feel a little unwell. Blood was actually a bother to clean-up, it got sticky fast. There was a distinct smell to it, too, like meat and salt, that made me recoil just a bit.
I didn’t like it when exceptions that came in were messy and not pleasant. I couldn’t help thinking that whatever had happened could have happened to me. If I’d have been in the same place at the same time, it would have been me, and I might not have even noticed it happening. Exceptions give no wa
