My refrigerator has genuine schoolgirl on it. Vivid crayon art with shiny decals alongside dry homework with what appears to be an outstanding grade; fastened to the faux stainless refligerator/fleezer door with magnetic cat sphincters. Inside are more half empty cups, dishes, containers, bags, trays, bowls, jars and sometimes sacks than I can suffer frequently.

The ones with booze in them are mine.  The ones in the side door that are slightly blue from a dash of Powerade.

Clear bags with meat in them and plastic envelopes full of delicious sharp cheddar cheese.  Jars of pungent, somewhat exotic mustards and other condiments like capers and kalamata olives.  Fish, BBQ and  teriyaki sauces.

I’ve glimpsed chunks of stuff in various stages of decay.  I hear carnival music when I open the door.

Sometimes there’s ice cream in the freezer.  Sometimes not.

There’s a giant pasta bowl in the elbow of the kitchen with a few kinds of fruit, cloves of garlic, some onions, shallots and I think I saw limes this morning.  Maybe they were avocados. There’s microwave popcorn in the cupboard along with more often than not turkey chili and ravioli in a can.

Chrome blender.  Chrome toaster.  Sleek black coffee maker and a stocky fire engine red bean grinder.

I find myself naked, eating rubbery high fructose corn lozenges out of a slender foil packet in the middle of dark mornings.  I have to pee.

I try to make sure there’s good canned tomatoes, decent pasta, aged parmesan, olive oil …………..

The kitchen and its contents aspirate so vigorously, I imagine it as a stop motion montage.  All of us speeding around supernaturally, cooking and eating.  Exaggerated moments of consumption.

I think about a certain food, one I’m sure I just saw, and it’s been gone for at least a day or two.

I always find something but I never know what it’s gonna be.

Drinks for my friends

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