problem

CANEULSYA had a problem. They thought less about the wonders of life than they should, and they cared more about wood shavings and canulas than the next man on the street. They bought cannollis and called them timothy chandler, and they had great ideas outside of their station. They wondered who those people who bought protein powder were married to, and why. And whether they all had white plastic sun loungers in their gardens that had no shrubbery, just grass and a fence. In the capsule, they felt contained, and comforted by white bread and music. Structures of immediacy, of the now, never the future. Jepso was their friend who they could tell wasn’t really interested when they called them, as they had breadmaking, and never looked back to before yeast was their god, their shining beacon of light and servitude.