He slides me out from the row, weighs me gently in his palm. I am tipped over onto my front. I feel him snap the seal; it only hurts for a moment.
He pulls at my tab and exposes my components, my 52 organs, ready to serve.
I am turned upside-down, a rush of nausea accompanies as I spill out into his waiting hand.
He spreads me in a fan between his hands, skilfully. I've never experienced this sensation before. He brings me to his face and inhales my smell, the way I've seen him do to others many times before. A ritual. I do not question the ways of the master.
Too soon, I am squared up and he packs me back into my cardboard skin. I long for the attention of his hands, but I know my duty. I must be patient, wait as I have my entire life. Wait. To serve the master.
The coat pocket smells. Sweat, and smoke. The pack of cigarettes I'm sat wit