Waratah Butcher

This is what’s on the block this morning, written down because the board in the window fogs up and nobody can read it from the footpath.

There is a chuck still on the bone, enough mince for a household and not much more, and sausages — plain, or the ones with rosemary if those aren’t gone by the time you get here. Osso bucco was four pieces at opening. I won’t promise they’re there at ten. When the block is empty I shut, even if the clock says I shouldn’t.

Saturday is different. People ring, or they used to, and then they don’t come. If you want something set aside, write it on the slip and bring the slip in before ten. I don’t keep a list on here. A list on a screen is how I end up with mince nobody collects.

The window, before the first customer. The parcels on the sill are orders that were actually paid for.

What was cut before eight. It doesn’t sit there all day.