#140. The Abattoir

There is an abattoir in the city that is disguised as something else. From the outside, it looks like a print shop about a block from a mountain equipment co-op. But inside, when the stars are lined up correctly, the store gives way to a cement killing floor that is stained rust-red with blood. The interior of the building will be larger than is possible, rooms stretching on into eternity. Much larger than the city. A few rooms from the entrance, you will find a room full of meat hooks and full of… meat.
Never enter this room shortly after a friend or relative dies, or you may see their face on one of the sliced-open bodies that the room’s small, Slavic inhabitants busy themselves with slicing. This is where the city’s dead truly go. The familiar bodies in coffins are made of wax in another room still deeper in the abattoir. You should not venture further than this, however, or you will be mistaken for meat. Instead, try to find the once face in the room whose lips are still moving.
The man, and it is always a man, will ask you for news from the front. Tell him that the good guys lost. His face will break into a smile and he will allow himself to die. With his last breath, he will bless you and yours. For the remainder of your life, good fortune will follow you so long as you keep to a strict vegetarian diet.

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