Tony and I had been friends since high school. He was a pretty agreeable guy and he understood the truth in all its forms. Plus he cooked a mean goose, and the giblet gravy that he would make, was delicious. I went to Tony's house early that day to help with the cooking.
I drank a quart of brandy and he drank a quart of rum. The Christmas meal's intoxicating smell wafted throughout his A-frame cabin. Tony took the cooked goose, glistening in all its fatty majesty, out of the oven and set it on the table upon a silver platter. We guzzled more brandy and rum out of leaded crystal goblets.
Tony brought in the heaping pot of giblet gravy. The gravy was still boiling in the sauce pot. The dark brown color of the gravy was perfect. I could not stop thinking of how good the gravy would be atop the goose meat and how gluttonously we would eat this meal. That is when Tony's doorbell rang.
Tony carried the still-steaming giblet gravy to the front door. As he opened the door, I saw that waiting outside was the homosexual mailman, Rico. Rico stretched out his arm, his hand holding several envelopes. Tony quickly threw the entire pot of giblet gravy into the face of the homosexual mailman. Tony shut the door immediately afterward.
That gravy would have been spectacular.
We ate the goose while staring at each other silently. The pitter-patter of snow against the windows was the only sound. Sometimes Rico would yell from outside. Each time I would close my eyes and put another slice of buttery, succulent goose meat into my mouth.
