I had the dream again. The engine of my car was stolen. I lifted up the hood and it was gone.
At work we have a giant stock pot. Its got all the parts of the animals we don’t serve up directly. The chickens’ feet, necks and back. Pork feet and heads. My friend who fries the churros has the job of straining the stock, and then dumping the remainder into always jammed compost barrels behind the restaurant. He found a compost barrel on the first try, and that means good luck for a week.