The thing is, the sky is on fire, the world is falling apart, and you’re standing in the kitchen frying eggs like it’s any other day and not the end of life as we know it so I gesture to the window like don’t you know there’s an apocalypse going on, what are you doing frying eggs at 3 in the morning at the end of the world? and you shrug as if to say why not? and the eggs keep on sizzling in the pan and there’s an explosion and the sky turns black for a moment before it catches fire again, and you don’t even look up, you just swear when the noise startles you so much you break the yolk—I can’t stop staring at you, standing there in the kitchen in your boxers like it’s Saturday morning three years ago before all this started and finally I have to ask “what the hell are you doing?” and you blink at me, confused, and
say “I’m cooking for you. Aren’t you hungry?”