I'm here to review not just the restaurants, but also the dysfunction, the dystopia. I feel I'm as much a reporter of the end of the world as I am the end-all brunch spots. Had I been so long in the suck of modern apocalypse that I never had an honest-to-goodness good time?
As per the usual rules, a move was considered for as long as it needed to be considered, but once a man took his fingers off the piece, it was final. Then came the wait, that unbearable lacuna of doubt and inevitable regret.
Before you reach the end of this story, this young man will be dead. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but to be honest, if you’ve read a few of these island yarns already and are expecting something pleasant to come out of this one, I’m not really sure what to tell you.
If food is alive, what food does food eat to stay alive? If food is alive, is it still morally acceptable, kosher even, for humans to eat that food? Is a live cookie the whole of the thing, or is it the sum of its live dough and live chocolate chips? Does a cake's life begin from scratch, from the first cracked egg, the first swish of the wooden spoon, or is it somewhere in the oven when the baking powder dances with the flour and rises up to life?
Well, there's good news and bad news. The good news is, since you last saw me, I've shaved all the hair on my head and grew a little more on my face. The bad news is I have just the routine to mold your body from a shape of chewed-up gum, into the shape of that gum molded into two hundred pounds of pure muscle.
She wanted me to have a better life, full of rich experiences. All she wanted me to do was stop posting.
Who cares who’s right or wrong, when the whole city, and maybe even the whole world, had completely collapsed, or whatever, all around them? What ideas are worth fighting for when there’s no world left to enjoy those ideas in? Anyway, Earl had an okay OKCupid date to make.