Monday, March 7, 2016

What a Ham

The small Vermont cafe is almost filled by the voice of our waiter as he clears our table. He's got a greying flattop, a black t-shirt covering a fairly substantial belly, and a single stud glittering in one ear.

"My family, they fed me Taylor Ham, and shit like that," he continues, holding forth, then looks down at his gut ruefully. "No wonder I was such an overweight kid."

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