Chapter 3
Gourmet Blood Tasting?
Spotting a flyer for a hospital 'blood drive,' Frank, ever the optimist, misinterprets it as a sophisticated tasting event. He eagerly anticipates sampling 'vintage O-negative' and 'notes of iron,' blissfully unaware of the impending chaos.
Frank, ever the gentleman, found himself in a rather sticky wicket. Mrs. Gable, his most reliable and, dare he say, delightful purveyor of sustenance, had decamped to the sun-drenched shores of Florida. Her parting gift, a small, hand-knitted doily and a vague promise of "a good retirement," had left Frank with a gnawing emptiness that no amount of Earl Grey, however perfectly steeped, could assuade. He’d tried the polite inquiry route, as readers will recall, which had resulted in a gentleman fainting dead away in the park and a rather stern-looking woman brandishing a handbag like a medieval mace. Clearly, the direct approach was not his forte.
He ambled through the sun-dappled streets, his well-tailored waistcoat feeling a trifle too tight, his perpetually pale complexion perhaps a shade more translucent than usual. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from a nearby bakery, a scent that, while pleasant, did little to quell the more