Lehman emerged from the dumpster. In filthy hands he held a tattered pink cardboard, which had crumpled somewhat under the weight of its companion rubbish. Lehman held the box aloft, like a sportsman’s trophy.
Sachs reared his dirty face to see. Bruised and beaten suits clung to the two men, with holes and scuffs marring there once crisp surfaces.
“Whaddya get?” Sachs muttered, before taking a long gulp from a brown paper bag.
“Only one way to find out,” Lehman replied, gleefully.
Sachs always thought that his partner in the gutter was far too cheerful for a homeless person.
Lehman pulled back the cardboard lid of the box, gingerly so as not to damage the box any further. A sweet, sticky smell greeted his nostrils.
And every one of the sugary balls was crawling with maggots.
Lehman yelped and tossed the box aside. Sachs howled with laughter.
“I don’t like secondhand doughnuts anyway,” Lehman protested.