Makings of a Good Sandwich

I cannot believe I’m out of mayo.

Standing in front of the refrigerator, I pinched my eyes shut in frustration and dropped my chin to my chest, letting out a pathetic sigh. Of all the days.

The electricity had been out since last night. In the morning, the eerie glow over the western horizon and plumes of distant smoke to the east were ominous to say the least. When the the news finally reached our sleepy college town, panic ensued for most of the population. Police and ambulance sirens were a constant background noise, and I can’t say I preferred them to the crickets, but it wasn’t all that bad. Strange as it may sound, but I found myself to be quite calm. In fact, I was perhaps the calmest I’ve been in my life, as if now I could finally relax. There was no worrying about tomorrow. There was no tomorrow.

I opened up my eyes and peered back into the darkened fridge, pushing aside the half empty jar of olives to locate the mustard. Back to the task at hand.

Making a sandwich as the world ends.

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