It's ten to midnight and I'm hungry.
Well, not really hungry in the technical sense of craving sustenance. I'm plenty full from dinner. What I need is sugar, and it's driving me mad. I pace into the kitchen every five minute to see if any chocolate had magically manifested itself in my cupboards since the last time I checked. But no. The craving gnaws at my brain. Surely SOMETHING will satisfy my lust for succrose? I've jelly, but the only thing I have to put it on is brown rice bread, which turns every dish in which you incorporate it into pure hatred. I have cereal, but no soy milk. I have instant pudding, but, again, no soy milk. At every turn I am thwarted. I just finished my raisins last night. There's no more fruit left. There isn't a sweet snack in the entire fracking apartment!
What time is it? Five to midnight. Shit. The bakery down the street will be closed. I could run to the grocery store up Broadway a few blocks, they're open 24 hours. I could also get something more instantly gratifying at the drugstore in the opposite direction. But should I? It's so late; is it wise to be walking the streets alone past midnight on a Tuesday in search of candy bars? Moreover, what kind of a person would that make me, leaving my comfortable apartment after all sensible people have gone to bed, looking for a sugar fix? The witching hour is upon me and still me desire burns.
I can stand it no longer; I am going out. When I return, if I return, I will come bearing the nefarious fruits of my dark debaucheries. Oo, maybe a Twix...
