The Stockholm Fridge

It lives in the refrigerator and it’s name is Sally. I call her Sally because she sort of grew two breasts last night. They are white and fuzzy. I was going to destroy it with rubbing alcohol and sponges but now I think I love her. I’m trying to think of what mold would like to eat. I settle on something organic and decide to not give her a moped engine. I quickly gather up my things and start looking for my wallet.

Jessica is holding my wallet and she’s looking at me incredulously. You see, she thinks my love is a lie but I think that is denial. She usually says something about me being “so god damn lazy as to come down with Stockholm Syndrome just so that you don’t have to clean up the fridge. God, you asshole.” I try to explain to her that we can make it work. She’s got metaphorical daggers n her eyes and I know I should leave.

I guess it’ll just be me and Sally soon. We’ll probably end up living on the street because Jessica owns the house outright. Anyways, I grab my wallet and glare back at her for half a second. There is a fruit stand two blocks away and I’m sure Sally could go for a pear, Jessica might like a peach. I myself would like to stop and be someone who might actually do the sensible thing and remove the mold from my refrigerator. Maybe, we’ll all get what we want but I doubt it.

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