“Do you have any snacks?” “Snacks?” “Yeah. Snacks. Chocolate dream cakes. Funyuns. Oh! Or maybe those little donut packs, but not the crunchy coconut ones. Those things are an abomination to all things snack related.” I have no clue where my next meal is coming from, and the thing that stands between me and landing this job depends on my ability to produce snacks? Slack-jawed, swallowing air between me and Snacky McSnackers, my single remaining nutrient rich brain cell remembers my mad dash packing to get out of the apartment last week before Dallas returned.
