short stories

The Jaws at Shaw’s

Walking through the well-stocked aisles of Shaw’s Supermarket, beware of the portly, grizzled deli worker who wanders the rows trailing odiforous stench, like a snail and his slime.

He seems greasy and inferior, fumbling about a four-wheeled dolly stacked with merchandise a foot too high for his stout stature. Yet beware. This is but an act. His intellectual prowess exceeds the sharpest minds known to man. He, in fact, wears his inferior character as a Venus Fly Trap attracting the hovering happy meal. He wants you to coax him. Before you verbally engage or even set your eyes on his sweat-stained shirt two sizes too small, he has assessed and personally contracted to kill your spirit, with a single statement driven monumentously through the very soul, as a two-foot mahogany stake.

So walk briskly by as he sneers over his right shoulder, catching you with the corner of his eye. Before he can revolve his four or five back roles of blubber 212 degrees around to face and destroy you, saunter ever so slightly and avoid this certain death…

…and live to tell the tale of the Jaws at Shaw’s.


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