[Camille thinks of those miserable pigs. Packed shoulder to swollen shoulder, shitting in fear, prodded and provoked, pumped and plumped by hormones until they looked like the sausages they were destined to become. Sows with teats rubbed cherry red by successive suckling babies. Rolling wild eyes, human screams.]
Yeah. [She rubs the velvet of the tender ear, and wonders along which lines the butchers might cut.] We only owned it. Never worked it. Mama was above blue collar labor, just as her parents before her, and theirs.
We just sucked up the profits and let the common folks bloody their hands.
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[She watches her pet, content, skritching ears.]
Mind you, the family business was in hog butchering. Not half so cute as any of this.
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Yeah. [She rubs the velvet of the tender ear, and wonders along which lines the butchers might cut.] We only owned it. Never worked it. Mama was above blue collar labor, just as her parents before her, and theirs.
We just sucked up the profits and let the common folks bloody their hands.
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Oh. That's less cool.
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[Hence the rejection of it. Camille flips her hair over one shoulder and leans forward, kissing the top of the cow's head.]
Can't say I'm into legacy businesses. Or pork products for that matter.
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[ sorry cows... she still likes burgers... ]