Katy urges you to look inside. You poke the bag and it deflates. You carefully unzip it and find the contents slathered in whipped cocoa butter shaving cream. All your clothes. Your books. You throw your hands in to rescue your laptop but yank them back when your finger is pricked by a shard of the flayed metal can. You put the finger in your mouth reflexively and suck. The blood is tinged with cream, which tastes more bitter than you expect. The aroma of cocoa butter in the room is now overwhelming and saccharine. You zip the bag back up.
