Castor Oil and Apple Skins

The elderly woman rebalanced herself and went about her market. The shamble leg man watched her disappear up the sidewalk, her handbag clutched to her chest; his thoughts on corrugated skin, castor oil and legs rubbed clean with ointments and soaves. The pool ball headed man skipped down the street, stilts striking the asphalt like diving rods, his legs bucked and crabbed inwards. The shamble leg man recalled eating applesauce stewed in a double-boiler with cinnamon and allspice, his grandmother pinking the skins off the simmer with a fork, the meat falling away from the cores like flayed skin. His mother gave him castor oil for colic, pressing the curved end of the spoon against the roof of his mouth. She claimed it went down easier that way, but it stung the insides of his mouth and made him feel clammy and out of sorts.