The light flashed across the sky. Like an uncooked noodle slicing through black sauce. A sick and twisted yet delicious metaphor whose message was clear: NO REST FOR JUSTICE, JUSTICE NEEDED NOW. She looked up, saw it, her mouth watered in acknowledgement. How could she not? It was as if the Food Court of Justice was calling out to her like she was on her lunch break from selling swimwear at the Wet Banana in Downtown City Mall and she couldn’t decide on souvlaki or chow mein. But that only spurned her on, drove her forward, lifted her up because she wasn’t no freakin’ hobbiest, not when it came to to stocking the justice buffet and serving it up all you can eat to every dirtbag and skidwad and jerkfart this side of the wrong side of the bad side of town. No, she was all-pro, a working woman, on the clock, 24/7, bustin’ that justice hard like a greasy sausage in a sourdough bun with all the trimmings: ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, relish, hot peppers, jalapenos, sauerkraut, nacho cheese, diced onions, sauteed peppers, bacon bits, pickled beets, chopped kale, chopped iceberg, chopped green leaf, ham steak, fried egg, capers, sun-dried tomatoes, salsa verde, queso fresco, sauteed mushrooms, pickled mushrooms, sliced pickles, horseradish, dijon mustard, grainy mustard, sliced black olives, sliced green olives, spaghetti, meatballs, linguini, clam sauce, shreddies, cheerios, ground beef, grilled chicken breast, salt fish, ackee, salt, pepper, lemon pepper, seasoning salt, cajun spice, taco seasoning, red curry, yellow curry, green curry, chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, escargots, quail eggs, duck eggs, ricotta, mascarpone, halloumi, lasagna, eggrolls, and parsley for colour. She took a bite of the metaphor. Puked hard. Them’s the breaks.