Low

It’s predictable. You check the mail for letters. It’s bills, and even worse, reams of pizza advertisements, k-mart specials, and an ad from a store you’ve never heard of a city down from where you live. They all want you to stuff your face or buy their junk, and you feel so off, that, for just that moment, you think of getting your shoes, grabbing the keys, and giving into your moody hunger. You stop yourself. It’s not worth the lukewarm gab with the woman at the checkout counter that always has a clever comment about every item that you’ve thrown into your cart. It’s definitely not worth filling the nearly empty gas tank, or the realization after a comedown from shopper’s high that you’ve morphed into a glutton just to feed your low. But you’re hungry. So, you pick up the phone to order the pizza pictured on the advertisement. You know, that one impossibly topped to perfection. Then you remember payday isn’t for another five days and you’re nearly in the red. You put the phone back on the cradle and open the kitchen cupboard. It’s ramen, ramen, and that one can of spinach that’s been sitting on your shelf for months. It’s the can of spinach you meant to give to the church when they were holding their food drive. After all, another family might need it more, and, yeah,ok, you hate canned spinach. You close the cupboard and sink into a chair near the table. You stare off, then notice the flowers printed on the tiles on the floor and piece together their pattern. It’s simple. Now you feel like getting up, feel like having a second look in your nearly empty fridge. You reach into the space on the bottom shelf just behind the meat storage and find a single bottle of beer that must have rolled into hiding, just for you, for just this moment.