this morning #2203.

this morning, i woke up beside an overturned jar of dill pickles. an olive green puddle & the salty scent of brine saturated the sheets. a half-eaten pickle on my pillow. the last thing i remember from last night was, after everybody had headed home, i was standing in front of the fridge. door swung open wide as, on the brink of blackout, i assessed the scant selection. did i need to eat? not in the least. earlier on in the evening, i’d polished off an entire hawaiian pizza all by myself. by that point though, the pot was obviously doing the talking. it apparently told me to go with the pickles. i do love me some pickles. doesn’t matter the time of day. not sure why i felt the need to bring the jar to bed with me though. must’ve got a taste & wanted to keep them close just in case.