“You know how she did her anatomy?” The blonde-haired woman was asking the other two. They'd moved tables again, out of the sun and into earshot. The others shook their heads.
“She had to do animals, not humans, so she dug up her cat that died 10 years ago.”
“No way,” they said.
Blondie was nodding and smiling. “Yeah, she couldn't just touch her own knee or whatever to see what it felt like. She needed an actual animal, so she dug one out of her yard.”
“Did it stink?” asked one.
“Did it still have flesh?” asked the other.
“No,” said Blondie, “it was fully decomposed. Just bones. No flesh, no stink.”
My food arrived. It had flesh and it stank. Presumably it hadn't just been dug out of someone's yard, although maybe that's a thing these days.
“You're lucky you got to do humans,” said one.
“Yeah,” said Blondie. “I can just touch myself.”
Well, that's always an option for all of us. Sometimes it's quite pleasant.
“That's way better than digging a cat out of the ground,” said the other.
“She said I should go to a cemetery and dig up graves,” said Blondie. “Kinda weird, right?”
“Not really,” they said, shaking their heads. Gotta do what you gotta do.
The food wasn't bad. It hadn't decomposed but had been grilled. Nice char marks, lightly salted, kiss of olive oil. Quite pleasant, like touching myself.
Still, I'm not sure I'll be returning to this place. The vibe wasn't my thing. I didn't dig it, the way one digs a cat or a grave. Too many shady spots on the patio for people to escape from the sun or whatever else is bothering them.