The Cure

You want to hear something good about mankind? Too bad. There's nothing good to hear any more. There's nothing good about mankind; we've wrecked the world and sold our souls and we can't buy them back. And it doesn't even matter because we're all going to die. Everyone. Everyone is going to die. Does that make you feel small, does it make your guts go cold? Do you want to hear something that will make you feel better? I know the secret, I know the only thing that will light up the dark abyss that rages inside you all through your sleepless nights.

I know the cure.

Get out of bed.

Go to the kitchen.
Take a knife, yes, you heard me, take a knife in your hand.
And with the knife, carve a
knob of butter from its rumpled foil, and
drop it into a frying pan.

Then take a banana and peel it, and slice it down its middle, and savour the ease with which the blade
slices down through it.
Place the slices in the pan and inhale the scent of butter, frying.
Put the kettle on. Put a teabag in a cup.
Slice a hunk of soft bread.
Spread butter on it.
Flip the banana.
Pour the water into the cup. Add milk. A spoon of brown sugar. Discard the bag.
When the banana has gone from ivory to rich, golden yellow, when its edges are soft and ever-so-slightly burnt, tip it out, onto the bread.
Add a quick grind of black pepper.
(Trust me.)

Eat.

And you'll feel better.










(O, humanity; if only there were enough bananas for you all!)