confessions of meat-eater

If the animal sees the knife before it dies, something inside it will burst open and the meat will spoil. In the butchery, when I was little, the animals didn’t have heads and hung upside down and skinless in the back room. But I could still see the vapours lurking in the open ribcages, the wetter shades of red that were weeping quietly. I still eat meat, but only the really processed kind.