So it's late at night, and I chop up a heart of romaine, put it in a bag, and mix in oil and vinegar, and return to my computer to eat it and make mostly vacuous Internet conversation. It's about 1:30 in the AM. Nothing special. Then someone calls my parents. This leads to one of the most astonishing, ethereal experiences of my life.

I hear my dad's coming downstairs. Knowing he'd be upset I'm up at such an hour, I lie in bed. I munch on my salad under the sheets. I finish, leaving nothing in the bag but warm oil and vinegar.

After playing with the bag a bit I partially open it and slowly relish in the contents. Sure, this will bother my stomach later, but I don't care. I'm totally in the moment. It's fucking zen, man. The bag and I are one entity as I partake in its nectarous contents. I suckle the bag as a baby suckles its mother's bare breast.

Then I realize that, unlike babies, I cannot drink and breathe at the same time, as oil and vinegar flood my windpipe.