You, sir, are a local hero.
You make brisket, damn good brisket, and you do it with a smile.
Unfortunately, it’s all you do. You love making brisket so much that you’ve
destroyed two and a half marriages, essentially abandoned four kids and spend
most of your non-brisket related time staring out of windows and weeping softly
to yourself.
Oh, and murdering drifters, which is actually what makes
your brisket so good.
See, it turns out the secret to a good brisket is coating it
in a sauce made primarily from drifter blood, and you’ve kept a steady supply
going for a long time. No one’s caught
on, but tomorrow, at the big brisket fair James Steakfrites (of the Parisian
Streakfrites, long standing adversaries of brisketlovers in the meat world) is
going to stand up and reveal your secret to the world.
Turns out he hired a private eye to dig up dirt on you and
he photographed you murdering a bunch of people. The sheriff, confronted with the evidence,
will dejectedly take you to jail while the town boos James Steakfrites and his
private eye. A few people will ask why
the private eye and James Steakfrites didn’t do something to stop you sooner,
before you fed people brisket they knew to be from a person.
Notably, no one eating your brisket will pause or stop once
they see you’ve been arrested. In fact,
a few people will steal some from your booth after you’re gone, though they’ll
look a little guilty.
Later on that night the townspeople will rise up and murder
James Steakfrites and his private eye.
Then they’ll storm the jail and, as the sheriff stands to the side and
watches, release you from your cell, returning you to your shop where you’ll
once again be embroiled in the lonely hellscape of your life making brisket,
though now you’ll go about your work knowing that the townsfolk don’t care that
you murder drifters and that they would literally kill to eat your
brisket. It is that delicious.
Congratulations Brisket Phil!
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