I am sitting by the wood stove. It’s been a long day. The store is closed, not that I really wanted to venture too far from the heat source next to me. I am jonezing for something delicious that our ghetto kitchen does not offer.
My brother stomps in and remarks happily that he found the box of fuzzy candy peach slices that I had hid in his boot a few days back. We are both pretty excited.
He pulls the hidden plastic bag out of the box, which by the way, contains way less candies than one would expect from such an overpackage. How could I have been so sloppy?! I didn’t even do the squeeze test- you know the one where you squeeze the box for the sound of the offending substance crinkling inside.
Still, I eat my peaches. Nino’s too. A brief pleasure. Sitting here the next day I now notice that my brother forgot his share here- he got the bag- and the bag now contaminates my plastic-free haven loft. And it will, my earth.