‘Where the hell are my butterfly prawns?’

‘Where the hell are my butterfly prawns?’ Man they arrived as soon as the words left my lips.

Once in a while, when I’m a little flush, I starve myself the whole day, sometimes at the end of the day, I inhale, clink some liquored ice and let hunger take me prisoner. In the moment I feel it’s thrust surge deep in me, I find the nicest restaurant in the closest vicinity of my whereabouts, find a seat, alone – I know what I want; good meat!

Good meat is a dream – the vessel of contentment. Meat is a gift from the gods. I sacrifice a steak in return.