Acomist
will nature make a man of me yet?
You don't like half the things you throw into the basket, but you never liked food. Not really. You know people laugh when you say that so you don't; but food is tasteless. Joyless. Routine. Pain.
Mummy used to make you diet and you didn't care because food was food and so fucking what. The kids at school laughed but your brother punched them till they couldn't smile without bleeding. You miss him and his iron fists, though maybe jail was the best thing to ever happen to him. (after you, he would always say).
The cashier is bored and young and runs your food along without even glancing at the packages. There's a lot. Cathy needs to eat and you don't trust her to buy her own food because she's a deer in a cave of bears. You look around the dismal supermarket and instantly spot a black sheep, his pale hands tapping the screen of a self checkout.
Self checkout. He's embarrassed to buy food.
It's a small triumph in your head that he's another victim of society until he looks up with his hard eyes and his downward lips and suddenly you realise there are three trays of chocolate being beeped through and you're going to eat every single one.
He's holding a bottle of water when he leaves, a bag of apples in his other hand and you don't even think before you say.
Mummy used to make you diet and you didn't care because food was food and so fucking what. The kids at school laughed but your brother punched them till they couldn't smile without bleeding. You miss him and his iron fists, though maybe jail was the best thing to ever happen to him. (after you, he would always say).
The cashier is bored and young and runs your food along without even glancing at the packages. There's a lot. Cathy needs to eat and you don't trust her to buy her own food because she's a deer in a cave of bears. You look around the dismal supermarket and instantly spot a black sheep, his pale hands tapping the screen of a self checkout.
Self checkout. He's embarrassed to buy food.
It's a small triumph in your head that he's another victim of society until he looks up with his hard eyes and his downward lips and suddenly you realise there are three trays of chocolate being beeped through and you're going to eat every single one.
He's holding a bottle of water when he leaves, a bag of apples in his other hand and you don't even think before you say.