A Mole, Cat's Tongues and Tiramisu

It turned out that he wasn’t dead after-all.

 

The police had already been called and were going through the contents of his pockets when he woke.

“What the fu…?”

 

The contents of his pockets amounted to a folded piece of paper and a silver teaspoon; one of the detectives was smelling the spoon and the other was examining the words written on the unfolded piece of paper when the sleeping man opened his eyes and offered a profanity at the world in general and specifically the one around him at that moment.

“It’s ok sir,” just relax said the one sniffing the spoon.

 

If anything, the waking man was more than relaxed, not only had he been asleep he had been dreaming. 

His instinct was to get up, grab the spoon – the piece of paper was less important – and walk off in a huff, but for some reason he was covered in a blanket that had not been there when he had fallen asleep, had not featured in his dream and, he assumed, belonged to the elderly woman staring at him through the thick lenses of her enormous glasses.

 She looked like a startled mole.

“What the fuc…?” she added her own surprise to the proceedings.

“Eggs, six. Mascapone two hundred and fifty. Cream, rum, cat’s tongues.” The second detective was reading from the piece of paper she had unfolded. “What the fuc… are cat’s tongues?”

“Biscuits.” The sleeping man, no longer sleeping answered.

“Tiramisu.” The elderly woman voiced her thoughts.

“Bless you.” The sniffing detective was thinking about sneezing, the spoon had a peppery aroma.

 

It was then that the ambulance arrived. 

The driver of the ambulance, his first emergency, arrived a little faster than perhaps was wise; it was also his first day of on the job.

Surprised by the crowd, which had now swollen with the arrival of a group of gawking school children, he swerved and hit the only person not standing. 

The sleeping man.

 

It turned out he was dead after-all.