Blog: East of Bowery

There's something peaceful about the slaughterhouse. In the killing season when the wind stops and everything is still, you can really see the colors, the browns of the oaks, the red maples, the evergreens. Even the dirt is pretty and they're sheep after all, so they line up meekly. You kill them quickly, gut their sacks and put the canvas down on the floor of the barn. "This was in Canada?" "Newfoundland." "Wow, that's interesting." We stood there not knowing what to say for a few minutes. What was left [...]

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