Eight pints later, the only thing he wanted was food. On his walk home he’d hazily remembered the block of mature cheddar sitting in the fridge and the last of the bread in the cupboard. Cheese on toast. Like a beer sponge, it would soak everything up nicely.
After fumbling with the wrong key for ten minutes, tripping over the same doorstep he’d tripped through for the past five years, he made straight for the kitchen, to the fridge, and wrestled the door open. The bright light glared. His gloopy eyes took a while to adjust. He searched with them. Both of them. He searched some more. His brain told him that even though it wasn’t functioning at full capacity it still couldn’t see the cheese it had been promised.
In front of fridges across the land people sat staring, looking, eager to satiate the late night craving with the reliable foodstuff of decades before. But they all agreed, it wasn’t there. No cheese. Continue reading “Cheesemass”