The peppercorns are running out and it’s why I had a panic attack.
The Bangladeshi family who gave me them, and had the corner shop in my apartment building, have gone to England in search of a better life.
I said: are you really sure that’s wise?
Still they ignored my advice and went anyway, for the good of their kids they said. A little girl and a littler boy.
I’m worried they’ve made a huge mistake.
So I watched the little plastic container of peppercorns going down, bullet by aromatic bullet, and then I felt my heart begin to rattle like a pneumatic drill breaking open the sidewalk and I had to hold on to the counter, as the peppercorns literally exploded in my imagination.
Really, it was that fast. BAM.
I miss them. Like I miss old lovers, lost heirlooms, my parents. No matter how big the world seems to get, however fast news travels, it only ever feels smaller. The world tumbles down our feeds, left unanswered in any meaningful way.