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.
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