Cream cheese by the dumpster

Bishma & Bhandu sat by the dumpster fighting over a cream cheese sandwich with the faintest hint of salmon in it.

Their clothes were worn out and had never been in fashion but Bhandu had spied hipsters donned in the same getup as them and had asked for copyright fees.

‘The bleedin bugger I flagged down said his threads were from Selfridges!’ Bhandu bleated out as he tried to snatch the sandwich from Bishma.

‘Get Off!’ Bishma wailed. ‘This reduced monstrosity is mine!’

He took another bite and chewed the crumbled combo with ecstasy.

His filling might have been falling out, the mercury antennae unlodging between tooth and gum, but some suited and booted tosser had given them this Marks & Sparks treat and he would chow it down despite not believing in fish and cheese. ‘Tastes weird. Bad. But good.’ Bishma dribbled out. He looked at Bhandu and elbowed him in the chin for getting his greasy fingers too close to the bread known as half a sarnie. ‘So… let me get this straight… because he said he got it from some posh shop you let him go? He’s copycatting our whole tat on a shoestring look! We at least deserve a hundred pounds each! He’s getting action. I saw him tongue some tall woman with balls down the alleyway the other day – she was right hot stuff. Bhandu you’ve got no knackers or persistence. Pathetic you are.’

He poked the one without a chomp or chew right in the eye on the left and waited for a squeal. It was more of a banshee squeak. ‘Oweeeeee!’ Bhandu released out.

He now had blood on his nose and an eye sore with bread and cream cheese he wasn’t even tasting. ‘He was using lots of long words like extraordinary and euphoric and erasure on his boombox!’ Bhandu said, sorry for himself and his hunger. ‘I think that’s four words Bhandu.’ Bishma said.

‘Oh screw you!’ Bhandu smacked back and socked Bishma right in the forehead with his fist and a folded can of cider. The scrunched steel nicked on flesh and the blood poured out. Bishma screamed and dropped the sandwich. ‘Thank you.’ Bhandu said as he reigned in the meal with only two bites left.

It was then slow motion. Beauty surrounded both, even though it smelt like poo city and the rats were gnawing on their boots. The strange concoction of seafood and creamy cheese went into Bhandu’s mouth. His tongue cried out for more and his teeth took it in turns to grind down the treat that would soon be no more. His throat accepted the offering and shot it down to the pits of his stomach and belly service action where digestion was done and another miracle was forgotten.

Oh ancient animal clothed in dust and doused in desperation. I love you.

Bishma was still bleeding but managed to kick off the rat and grab his cap that had a bottle of brandy in it. He threw some on his wound, streaming out in lashes of ruby and raisin and then held the bottle firmly in his hand, prayed to Genghis Khan and Goliath’s strength before David met him at dawn and smashed the bottle against Bhandu’s back. ‘Arghhhhh!’ Shouted Bhandu. ‘That’s a waste of good brandy!’

He fell forward and started to choke for the last morsel of his meal had not quite sunk below. He also dropped the sandwich in tow.

Bishma went to retrieve the lost supper and then noticed his friend and foe was choking in such a way that his face looked like a deceased pigs and he was certain he would meet with The Reaper soon. ‘Oh shush Bhandu. Enough of the dramatics. You’re pulling my leg.’ Bishma then opened his mouth to chew the last chunk of the sandwich. He called for slow motion but the coughing was so loud the sound cue was not heard.

‘BHANDU!’ This is balls and codswaddle on cream cheese! Can you please be quiet and go splutter somewhere else? I am eating. No manners this one!’

Bhandu was blue. And red. Then purple too. He asked to be painted more but saw the floor instead. He whirled and writhed on the sodden slabs churned up and saw his shadow cast upon the dumpster. It was funny – the shadow looked like a dance – Bhandu like death.

He kicked out his knee joints and his bones cracked and spluttered out for one last energised blare at life. The glare of extended limbs hit Bishma in the shin and he let out a tremor of pain. ‘Arghhh! Bhandu why are you still crying? You idiot. I’ve dropped this sandwich again. It’s got grit and muck on it now. You selfish sappy bumwhine.’

He was handed the sandwich in ruins by a figure dressed all in black with a briefcase and sickle. ‘For you it’s the three second rule. For him it’s another expiry.’

Bishma look confused.

‘Would you like this slice of chocolate cake for signing his forms? It’s made by Sekhmet. I’m afraid he signed his soul over to you when he got drunk with a pigeon and the pigeon is now dead.’

Bishma repeated his confusion.

The sickle was shining and had a strange, alluring sound coming from its nose.

‘I’m sorry, I’d love to leave you to finish your dinner but I really have to take Bhandu now so please sign.’ Said the one all clad in spick and spack black.

Bhandu was growling and gurgling in complete madness to the side of them both like a fish fighting to understand why it has been ripped from the sea.

‘How dare you take life! How dare you rip it away! How dare you think you can make Bhandu your wife!’ Said Bishma with a rage not seen before.

With that Bishma grabbed Bhandu, knocked the stuffing out and drummed the bread wedged finally down into his pits.

‘This kid wants to take you away Bhandu. Sell you into slavery. Do tests on you. Maybe make you a maid. Stinking rich think they rule the world.’

Bhandu was only just beginning to remember his name.

‘Oh forget it Bhandu. I’ll restore your honour.’

And with that Bishma stood up, kneed the noir nobleman in the gilly gankers and then shoved the last chunk of sandwich down his throat, grabbing the huge sickle and prodding it down his gullet. The papers for The Fields of Mourning fell by his wayside and there was an almighty tear in the ground. Bhandu slumped against the dumpster taking in sweet new air and the victory of not dying just yet. But he also felt sad that he hadn’t had his fair share of the seafood supper with diary.

The slice of chocolate cake wrapped in vine leaves and an edible gold lettering watched on. It would have to wait for a moment to declare desert delivered.