She’d cooked me a piece of veal and I ate it. I remember its taste, sweet, cloying and how I regretted it. It was a dream, and even in the dream I’d thought that I don’t have to do this. It had been a practice-run for a big work’s party, where we’d been informed that they wouldn’t cater for non-meat eaters. I had, or felt I should fit in, but the meat repelled me. I woke from it unsettled, uncertain as to why I didn’t stand my ground and refuse.
