Mmm, Smoked Salmon

“My nephew, he's studying design, he wants to get into advertising, he decided to do a project for my store, and there you go. Now, you wanted the smoked salmon?”

“But what does it mean?”

“Nothing. I don't know. It means, uh, turkeys. Time to eat a turkey. It has nothing to do with dinosaurs.”

“What?”

“Or monsters. Monster birds. It's styrofoam, I can lift the whole thing, see? It's meant as an attraction, a conversation starter. It has nothing to do with nightmares, or the unknowable, or the madness of flesh.”

“Madness of...”

“The inescapable connection between life and consumption. Endless ingestion and reproduction and growth. It's a turkey. An oversized turkey. A stupid advertisement. I shouldn't say stupid, he's a good kid. He tries. How are your boys, Mrs. Miller?”

“Good. They're fine.”

“And I bet they're always hungry. I remember that age. Always eating. So hungry. Growing. Devouring. I'll get your salmon.”