The aroma of fresh chicken broth fills a back alley kitchen. A massive iron cauldron balances on stone supports over a blazing bonfire within the room’s epicenter. Candlelight glows around the room, casting shadows of tall spice containers and vegetable baskets against the brick walls.
A childhood melody plays between Jackson’s lips. He ladles warm soup over his bald head. The liquid cascades over his nose and mouth. He sticks a curious tongue under the cascading rush. Bobbing chopped chicken sections mingle with carrot chunks around his hairless chest and back. He sips the savory broth from a wooden spoon. A deep smile pulls across his face.
“Ah, that’s good soup. It should get better reviews than my cousin’s attempt,” he says to a wayward celery piece. “If only I’d be alive to taste my own masterpiece.” He swallows a yellow pill, washing it down with a spoonful of tasty warmth. “At least Genevieve will have some fun turning me into a hearty meal.”
Jackson’s eyelids grow heavy. His face slips under the seasoned broth.
