Five gallon buckets, white, vacuum packed. Three of them skulking in the back bedroom. Mom and Michael Y2k worried, dropped off emergency supplies. Snickering everytime they fell under view, friends poking and proding them during visits. Few days post anticlimax, time to open and see treats inside. Must have assumed there was a hacksaw just laying around the house, the only thing capable of opening them it turned out.

Diligently sawing clamps around the rim, curly white sawdust falling, the last bucket. Salt! Enough for an army! Uh oh! Packaging mistake, placed at the top, partially hacksawed open salt spills on table! Fixed, done exploring, repackaged for next doomsday. The salt stays on the table, spread thin flat, weeks pass. Drawing in it, edible etch-a-sketch. Line art coffee cups, pumpkins, animals.

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