Butcher

The queue outside the shop stretched to the end of the road and round the corner.
Everyone was after the same thing: pies.
The butcher's pork pies were the best in town. They were the best in the district. They were the best in the county. People couldn't get enough.
"Where's your wife today?" one of the customers asked during a routine bout of small talk.
The butcher glanced at the display of pork pies and smiled. The customer laughed.
The queue gradually became smaller as everybody got their daily dose of pie and went about the rest of their business.
Nobody complained - they all knew it was worth waiting for.
Finally, just before lunchtime, the last customer was being served.
"What can I get you?" asked the butcher.
"Have you any pies left?"
The refrigerated glass cabinet was empty. "I think I've got some more out the back," he said, retreating through a doorway.
After a couple of minutes the butcher hadn't returned.
"Have you found any?" the customer called.
There was no reply.
"Hello?" called the customer.
Still no reply.
He stepped behind the counter and headed for the doorway.
He was shocked when he saw the back room. A metal bench in the middle of the room was covered in blood and body parts, clearly human.
The door of the walk-in fridge at the rear of the room opened.
"Last two!" said the butcher, holding aloft pies as he crossed the room.
The customer paid for the pies and left.
It didn't matter what he'd seen, they were still the best pies in the county.