by Kerry Hudson
Her pale foreign eyes dropped to the foil package between them.
â€œYou eat this?â€ she asked.
â€œWha-- No, not right now,â€ Dave answered.
â€œI thanking you.â€ Her sparrow hands snatched his egg sandwich and she took gulping bites, leaving a red crescent around the ghost of white teeth in the bread. Dave felt he had been bitten, by proxy, by sandwich.
â€œI go tomorrow,â€ she said through an egg-mayonnaise mouthful.
â€œWhat? Where?â€ asked Dave, his mind still stumbling over her directness.
â€œI say I go tomorrow.â€ She exhaled through her nostrils, noisily.
He raised his voice a little. â€œAnd last night where did you sleep?â€ He enunciated every syllable, left large pauses in between the words.
â€œHoustel, Peckham,â€ she replied, looking at the ceiling.
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"The Thirst" is roughly 2180 words.
Kerry Hudson is twenty-seven and lives and writes in Hackney, East London. The vibrancy, diversity, and intense dirtiness of the city inspire her stories and poems. Three years ago, Kerry gave up a promising career as a Christmas Elf to work in the nonprofit sector (thus spreading joy all twelve months) and currently works for an HIV and AIDS charity. If there was ever any doubt, Kerry Hudson will write for cake.