The first time Rik did it it was for a dare. His mates had fed him a bottle of White Lighting followed by a good third of the pinkest Watermelon 20/20, so Rik was fully prepared to take on the deed.
The brick had been one discarded by a former building left for too many years to decompose, aided by the odd storm and occasional vandal. It wavered on the edge of the once wall. It was dirty orange with patches of black. Rik didn’t consider where the black had come from. Neither did his teeth as they bit into the sharp clayey edge. His mates laughed, expecting a spluttering of broken mouth appendages, possibly followed by a trip to A&E. But that didn’t happen. They expected a lot of blood, mixed with some gum and bits of yesterday’s dinner. But that didn’t happen. They expected painful cries of why the fuck did I do that, even with a blood alcohol level of numbness. But that didn’t happen. Instead, Rik crunched his way through the unuseful construction material with relative ease, and even a bit of enjoyment. He took another one home for later. A post drinking session snack.
Since then Rik had found it difficult to give up his brick addiction. Building merchants began their regular fortnightly delivery of fresh bricks, wondering how such small batches were being made into nothing at all. Different bricks gave off different flavours. A plethora of tastes and textures. Rik became quite the expert.
As he sat in the green room of the prime time 30 plus market segment chat show, plate of complimentary pebbles next to the other guests’ boring sandwiches, Rik considered his new found fame. You never know what you’re good at unless you have a go, and sometimes going on the piss with your mates is just the place to begin.