The bread that I have now doesn’t smell so good. It smells like the yeast my friend uses to ferment his homemade booze back in Saudi, which might be okay for booze but not for bread.
The peanut butter, though, is still good. Peanut butter lasts forever, it seems. Well, it lasts until I eat it all, which doesn’t take exactly forever.
To lighten my load, I’ll throw out the bread and eat some of the peanut butter before bed. And somewhere in this country, maybe even this city, maybe even on this street with me, not some other street in some other city or country, maybe someone else doesn’t have any food at all, not peanut butter for sure but maybe not even bread that smells fermented.
