Gladys Davenport adjusted the clear acrylic box on her fireplace mantle. The box needed to be level – doctor’s orders – because secured within was a perfectly preserved human kidney. The same one she just purchased at auction. The same one she’d be having surgically implanted tomorrow morning.
The black-tie crowd shuffled by. They wanted a glimpse of this vulgar, disgusting display firsthand.
Some were judgmental, of course, but Gladys didn’t care. She was one of the few in this society who could afford such a procedure, and she had every intention of making sure everyone in her social circle knew it.
The Weekday One Hundred 