The first bite of meat after three years is more weird and less pleasant than you’d think. And the hesitation, the analyzation of it, calls into question the entire eating process. Like lifting the fork to insert an object into a hole in the face. I can . . . put this inside of myself? This is what we call, uh, food? This is allowed?
It felt as foreign as eating the bark off a tree. I was shoving some chicken-shaped knick-knack into my mouth. I was quietly chewing on your favorite sweater.
“You going to have any more of that?” Nick asked.
Photo album: here (warning — some graphic content).