Reheated turkey, of sorts: a.k.a. reblogging an older post.
A young woman leaned in close to him and politely answered his inquiry about her plans for Thanksgiving.
“Well,” she whispered conspiratorially, ”my main plans are for Black Friday.”
Black Friday? It was a term he was not familiar with. It sounded ominous. The knowing intonation with which she spoke alarmed him. Had he inadvertently stumbled upon a grand conspiracy? Was Black Friday, he wondered, a revival of the notorious Black Hand? He had his suspicions. The woman might be a nihilist – he was suspicious because of the scuffed shoes she wore. Was this Black Friday some dissident group she was involved in? She must have mistaken him for a co-conspirator. Or perhaps she was not a political agitator but a foolhardy soul dabbling in the black arts? He vowed to dig deeper into this Black Friday and discover what malignant intent it had.
“So,” he asked, ”what happens at Black…
View original post 4 more words