Bobby Sauro

You’re knocked out. I’m choking on nothing. That means a trip to The Cabinet. It’s just to the right of the kitchen window. Five floors up, I can see the Canal. The water there is so contaminated it will take one hundred years to remediate.

I start by realigning the two jars of peanut butter, the ones from last year’s salmonella lot. I usually put the taller objects in the back but not with the shelf already crowded with enough tampered Tylenol to poison all of Gowanus. I think about releasing some of the fast food super heroes I’ve collected over the years to help but they’re trapped in plastic bags that could morph into choking hazards. My Batman lies asphyxiated next to a multiplex-sized box of Junior Mints. The mints hadn’t officially been declared a defect by any authority but after I almost choked on them during Halle Berry’s sex scene with naked Billy Bob Thornton in Monster’s Ball, I declared all three hazardous.

The beef from that shuttered slaughterhouse in Nebraska, it got its own shelf, and was sealed in zippered baggies placed in Tupperware containers stacked inside each other like Russian dolls. How could they be so sure it would eventually go bad? Could they spot mad cow medallions on sight?

Taped to the inside of the cabinet door is the picture of you from last night that the instigators brought over to calm me down. They had no excuses, but now feel guilty they forced you into a Girls Night Out in a godforsaken neighborhood where you six didn’t belong. In the picture, they’re hamming it up but you dominated the camera.

Before you went out that night, you told me your theory that a man’s beard grows every time he has a perverted thought, and asked did I want to dedicate one to you. I replied that I had a new-found respect for Grizzly Adams, Confucius, and two of the three members of ZZ Top.

I re-position the photo with clean tape and go back to bed.

Bobby Sauro lives in Atlanta. He once worked in a nail polish factory, filling bottles by hand while inhaling an acetone cloud. His work has appeared in Burnt Bridge and elimae. Bobby has a blog here.

Photograph by Eleanor Leonne Bennett