Pickles – Comfort #00023

Posted on April 19, 2011


I’m at a crossroad. You see, I love my girlfriend but I’m addicted to gas station pickles, which she cannot stand. Whenever I come home I’ll have two or three of them and she says that the smell is so strong that she wants to cut her own head off, or maybe even mine, just to get rid of the smell of the pickles. Yesterday she evicted me, and subsequently became my landlord. I’m renting these boxes from her outside our house. They are cheap and nicely built, and I can eat as many pickles as I want. We also saved our relationship, because now I can talk to her through the window in the back of the house and tell her about my day and how much I love her and how the gas station got a new supply of pickles in today, or how the last pickle I had was nice, and oh yes, did she know when she would get around to fixing the plumbing issue in my boxes, or the electric but especially if she knows when the heat will be working because it is starting to get cold and I am not certain but I sometimes think I hear another man’s voice in there, a man that doesn’t eat pickles, laughing softly, trying not to be heard, amused by my plight.

Posted in: Food, Year 1: Comfort