She’s chewing corn pops and I’m watching. In what seems like slow motion, her mouth moves and works as she grinds every last yellow ball into oblivion. I stare at her. At her mouth. Listen for the screams. I hear the enriched corn sugar exploding like shotgun blasts. These are the end times. These are the days we will count our dead not by the hundreds, but by the thousands.

She shovels another scoop in and I slam my fist on the table, making spoons and glasses rattle.

“MONSTER!” I yell.

The chewing stops as she looks at me. The children in the adjoining room stop playing and stare, Cartoons play on the TV and the only sound that can be heard is Peppa pig, fat shaming her porky father.

“Jesus Jordan, what the hell is wrong with you?”

I snap out of my daze and mumble an apology that earns a well-deserved squint. The kids go back to oblivion. I take a bite of my bagel and it screams bloody murder in my face.

Self-isolation – Day 12: Ben Affleck movies about basketball.

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