Fleet Street Eatery
By Wakefield Mahon
“I once loved a man who couldn’t love me back.”
“Aye, there’s a story I’ve heard before.”
“You’ve no idea the things I did for that man. Still he pined for the pretty thing even after she’d lost her mind.”
She sat a pie in front of me, to which I turned up my nose. “No thanks.”
Mrs. Lovett warned me, “No one likes a judge.”
Then she broke into a maniacal fit of laughter.
I judge her meat pies to be quite tonsorial, and vengeance a dish best served with a nice glass of Chianti and some fava beans.
By Wakefield Mahon
“I once loved a man who couldn’t love me back.”
“Aye, there’s a story I’ve heard before.”
“You’ve no idea the things I did for that man. Still he pined for the pretty thing even after she’d lost her mind.”
She sat a pie in front of me, to which I turned up my nose. “No thanks.”
Mrs. Lovett warned me, “No one likes a judge.”
Then she broke into a maniacal fit of laughter.
I judge her meat pies to be quite tonsorial, and vengeance a dish best served with a nice glass of Chianti and some fava beans.
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