Stale corn flakes and stale water. Surprisingly good when you haven't eaten for two days. Found a dusty half filled box in the back of cupboard next to the baking soda and cooking sherry. Shit. How long can a man live on baking soda? As the good Lord said, “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every box of Arm and Hammer during the undead uprising.”
There’s the corn flakes, the sherry, and not much else to take. Other than the drugs. Obviously, can’t forget the mountain of pharmaceuticals. Was surprised they prescribe Prozac to canines, but a dog has every right to be as neurotic as it’s pill popping owners. Ms. Baker had four separate prescriptions to different sleep aids, and Mr. Baker’s daily dose of panic attack preventers would make me as glassy eyed as the stumbling citizens outside.
Leaving tomorrow. Plan to pop one of Ms. Baker’s finest sleep aids and down the last of the cooking sherry to get a good night’s sleep. On an empty stomach, odds are good I’ll be hung over tomorrow morning, but I’ll chance it. There aren’t many of them out there, but the moans are grinding my nerves raw. It’s really getting to me. Shows I wasn’t made for this. I got kicked out of cub scouts on account of paying more attention to the Oreos and juice boxes we got at the end of the meeting than the survival lessons during.
The next house over, the one with all the fishing gear peaking out the garage, should have something worthwhile. Hiking food? Freeze dried dinners to go with the outdoor gear?
Hope springs eternal.
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