“Why the fuck did you feed me an eraser?” she asks in disbelief. She scrubs at her tongue, eyes crossing. “An. Eraser?” I say each word separately, succinctly, tasting them on my tongue the same way she had just tasted the apparent eraser. “Is that not a food source?” “No!” she groans, her tongue sneaking out to lick her lips. “Erasers are not food.”
