Braised Eels in Sweet Tea

Dejesus and Gibbs and went to great lengths to avoid each other, even if that meant going in the opposite direction, which made walking circuitous and irritable. Wherever they went, Gibbs and Dejesus, a blank slate of a sky was sure to appear, not a tabula rasa or a chalkboard sky, but one that had yet to acquire a palate or a purpose for being a sky at all. They, Gibbs and Dejesus, hadn’t the slightest clue that they were hopeless, hopelessly clueless. Once when they met to discuss oratory devices over dinner, which they did once, begrudgingly, they ordered a repast fit for a king, or someone who cared very little for proper digestion and gall. They started with an appetizer of cods’ tongue with black currants, braised eels pre-soaked in sweet tea and rolled into fine paper-thin rolls, each no bigger than a frogs leg, then for the main course bulls penis flayed and prepared with a clove and anise puree that smelt like something left out too long in the noonday heat. They topped off the meal with a bottle of Paddy’s Allsorts and tiny cakes formed into tiny pinafores topped with heavy cream and carob shavings. The waiter, a slight man with brown hair and a mole just below his eye, offered the two an After Eight, which both men declined, saying, ‘we’re no dandies, just bring us the bill, and step on it’.