Tuesday 10/31/2006 11:31:00 PM

Every week without fail we drive to the supermarket. To scoff at overripe melons. And finger slices of yellow at the deli. So many different varieties of cheese. I can never remember which ones I like. So she tells me to risk it. $3.00 for a quarter pound of discovery. Bankruptcy is measured more by what you keep than what you spend.

Maybe. Just maybe. You don't even need a sandwich. That same tired lunch I always have. Cutting the bread in half. Who eats half a sandwich anyway? There is permission in starvation.

To gorge.

We spend so much time shopping for poison. Wondering why the cure doesn't return our calls.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.