By Nan Doyle
The road to heavenly bliss is paved with white tiles, white and shimmering like mother of pearl in an artificial light. And so I apply myself to the task with the clinical precision and fervour of a serial killer. Cracking, banging, snapping and gouging white flesh from hidden depths; anticipation rising as I salivate and drool, torturing myself by refusing even a tiny morsel until my task is completed. The eating of this creature is forbidden somewhere in the Old Testament, probably in that Leviticus chapter that forbids everything that may be pleasurable to some. My take on this is, why make it taste so good if it's unclean? I know this creature well, it will taste of the ocean and the air and the sky. Preparing it for consumption is a solitary task as I don't share my mud crabs with anyone. Mine, all mine.
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