Roger was not sure, at what point, his day went awry. He mentally retraced his day. His morning started off well. Breakfast was a whole box of frosted Pop-Tarts and a tall glass of chocolate milk. The cardboardy-goodness of the Pop-Tart flavor had even inspired him to circle the word, “chocolate” each time it appeared in print of his newspaper. However, his joy was cut short when he couldn’t find his Thursday suspenders. Then, his lime-green AMC Pacer wouldn’t start.

After Triple AAA arrived hours later, he thought driving around would clear his mind. He pulled into a supermarket parking lot, hit with the sudden desire to eat his weight in potted meat product. Unfortunately, the 24-hour market had been closed due to a city-wide epidemic of tortcullis. A bottle of Everclear had helped him forget the currently-elusive potted meat product, as well explain the physically totaled, vomit-filled Pacer, his nausea and his nudity. It’s funny what clarity one can experience, riding in the back of a cop car.