I.
Mesut was using his single use blade for the 15th time. It didn’t remove a hair on his face, but just glided on the foam like a man trailing a motor boat.
Every time he thought of the price of these things now, he shuddered. I could get two blocks of cheese for the price of these.
He held the blunt instrument between two fingers and dropped it in the bin.
I’ll grow a beard.
II.
She got up early to prepare “breakfast.” All night she had tossed and turned, how could she make it happen?
She cut the last few slices of the stale bread, so thinly you could see the sun through it. The last of the cheese the same. Yesterday’s tea was reheated, and to make the table look fuller she placed a few flowers she picked up from the side of the road in a cup.
The children ran into the kitchen excited, within seconds the table was empty. Zeynep looked around, Mesut walked down the stairs slowly stroking his stubble.
“The flowers are a nice touch, Zeynep.” She smiled nervously, she was blaming herself, as he was.
He tidied the table and left the house. There was little to say, or eat.
III.
It was shopping day; this was becoming more like attending a funeral with many guests. Each picking up an item of food, looking at the price, then putting it down.
Mesut was loading up the cart: large loafs of bread, feta, olives, fresh juice and vegetables.
“What are you doing?” She was crying now. “Feta… I mean…”
“I won a bet.”
“You’ve been gambling our little money!” There was fire in her eyes.
He nervously stroked his finger were his ring used to be, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
