Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne

An Order

“She likes caresses,” a farmer says, scratching her pig behind its ear. The pig is making grunting noises. “She loves being tickled on the sides the most.” The woman strokes the animal on its massive back, moving her hand from side to side. With her fingers she doodles on the pig’s pale pink skin. Delicately, stronger, delicately. The beast twists its body and wriggles. Whenever the woman takes her hand away, the pig knocks against the wooden fence and thrusts up its chin in expectation, asking for more. “There are orders already placed on her,” the farmer says. “These parts,” she circles around both sides of the spine, “a restaurant will take, and the ribs the fire department will take for a picnic. My pigs live six months. They are very affectionate and docile. The unfortunate part is that we kill them.”

The pig stands still, looking up at the starry sky. “She’s had a wonderful life.”


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