It’s a Friday night. The kind of Friday night filled with loneliness and drunken posts on your Instagram feed. You decide there’s nothing worse than dying lonely AND hungry, so you put a fifth of whiskey to the ground and head to the kitchen to make a quick snack. You remember this YouTube video where someone, clearly partaking in the Devil’s Lettuce, fried up some Mac n’ Cheese in a ball. You have some Mac congealed to the bottom of a plastic container, vaguely smelling a bit off. You also have some oil sitting in a pan already -one less step, you tell yourself. It was from when you were frying up some hotdogs, so you hope the burnt olive oil will provide some profile to the possibly rancid taste of the macaroni. The day’s old oil sizzles and then the chatter, like a million chirps and gurgles from the back room, combined into one husk.
“You hungry too? Well,” you ponder on the mess sprawling over the kitchen table, “there’s plenty… for us?”
You misspoke. It has an infinite-sized stomach, you realize one night while trying to make crepes out of a boxed-pancake mix. It embodies all aspects of the infinite: inspiring just the same great anxiety while looking into the void of space. Or the fear while contemplating on the existence of a higher power, neither benevolent nor evil.
You feel its presence hanging over your shoulder, peering into the very fibres that make you whole. You feel it say, say it in your trembling soul: eat as much as you want, that gaping hole will never be filled.
You turn around with a snap of your neck and your body to follow. There’s nothing there. There was never something there. You are alone with a 20$ bottle of whiskey you bought from your neighbour, in hopes it’s moonshine. You are alone with your rotting food. You are alone.
You roll up some Mac from a box in some bread crumbs you happened to have hoarded, a pitiful sight. You give it a good toasting, the smell makes you recoil slightly but not enough to squash your curiosity. There’s two balls, two plates: one for you and one for your grump delusion. You head to the back room and place the plate by the door.
“If I am so empty then stay with me.” You push the plate with your toe, crossing the boundary between your world and its. “Enjoy my friend.”