Chips

I’m always hungry this time of night, or I’m bored, I’ve been warned against mindless eating, it’s not good for me, but what does that mean, I’m hungry and maybe I’m lonely, there’s a poem about stealing the plums from the fridge, you should really be keeping them on the counter, someone bought Cheetos, we shouldn’t even have those in the house if we’re serious about good for us, there’s a sitcom about leftovers, there’s a marriage about filling the emptiness inside, there’s a cruise ship of people in line at the all-you-can, a city of all-night dinners and free refills, let’s stay up all night like we used to, let’s go for coffee and maybe a slice of pie, let’s spin our change around the mug until one of us gets it to make a full circle, if we stay long enough we can order breakfast, we can pretend there’s a point at which we will have had our fill, a moment when this desire that drives us will be sated.

Photo by stu spivak, used and adapted under CC.