After breakfast this morning, Ben and I walked to Lim Chhour to get some juice. I know what you're thinking: juice is delicious. I was thinking this also.

We stood at the fridge for some time, basking in the fluorescent wash of milk tea and isotonic drinks. I was perking up at the prospect of returning to bed, juice-box in hand, when Ben suddenly yelped "HOLY SHIT." I turned around to see him pointing excitedly at something around the corner.

This is the point in the story where I wish I hadn't been hungover. This is the point in the story where I skipped over to him, expecting something exciting like more juice options, or a discarded mountain of bubble wrap.

Instead, I saw this:

What the hell, Lim Chhour. What the hell.

Ben thinks it was waiting to be chopped up and sold, since the meat section is just behind. This is disgusting on so many levels. We could have done all sorts of unhygenic things to it, and thousands of unsuspecting people would have bought their meat chunks before dying of poison thirty hours later. I mean. Wait. What?


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