you hated the local butcher, Harry Bolton, every teenager did, any teen who entered his shop he would stare down like a wolf eyeing up its next meal, some pretty even spread rumors that he might be a serial killer or a cannibal

your mom needed a bit of lamb and you begged her just to buy it at a normal store but she insisted on the butcher, shrugging your concern off as teenager rebellion

now here you stood, in the butchers and he is already staring at you while talking to your mother