Gravy-related Fiction

Garmo Frondhem stood at the cusp where the gravy had spilled and ran down in little droplets to the street. His hands shook like baby rattles and his tongue flapped out like a broken slingshot. His gravy was scattered and never to be all held in his jug no more. This brought to his lips, mouth, and inside the mouth, a feeling of mad and also a feeling of wondering where he could get other gravy. For to his buds, something like this salt gravy with the meat flavor was the only reason to go about walking and talking and making deals. Even his goatee ached. It was the gravy for goodness sake. His.