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Matador
A matador walks into the forest. A killer by any other name, he is called Paolo. He even has a red cape, which he lays down over the moss. He sets out wine and Monchego. She comes sniffing, slinking, from the undergrowth. With big white teeth, he smiles. He spares a moment to think how beautiful her eyes, like amber on the southern beaches. And then as she dips to taste the wine, he presses home the blade, and again, until his cape is soaked with the Wolf’s blood. He wears it proudly out of the woods, wrapped around him.
