I’m staring at a ridiculously tall can of Diet Mountain Dew. When I carried it out of the gas station a guy fueling up seemed to watch me. I knew I’d been right when he yelled over, “Goddamn, I thought you were carrying a really tall beer. I was gonna say, ‘fuck yeah, that’s a Friday night alright’”.
It was funny, because I had actually just spent entirely too long inside trying to find something that wasn’t lard or ridden with calories. The best answer was an over-sized, overpriced can of acid and substitute sugars. It’s Friday night somewhere, but not here. Not under this skin. This is the start of my work week.
It feels like aspartame. And one big zero in every serving.