End of Days, An Autobiography.

Part I — Salt

Salt. Salty potato chips. Salt and vinegar fries. Salt and butter dripping off a cob of corn, cooked on the barbecue. Salt on my roasted carrots, dripping with olive oil and candied from baking in the oven for hours at a low temperature. Salt on a fresh steak, grilled to perfection.

Of all the things I thought I would miss, salt is the top of the list. You might have thought chocolate, or coffee, or even tea. Or dairy. Salty, salty cheese. Citrus. Sour lemony goodness, tangy oranges. Never drank coffee, so that was easy. And yeah, I miss tea. But I can make mint tea, or sometimes something more exotic, like chamomile. There’s actually a lot of fruit around. It’s not the same, but I’m used to it now. I can get my sugar hit because there are plenty of maples around, but I can’t get salt. I dream about it, even after all these years. Salt on potatoes, salt on meat, salt on veggies … yummy delicious salt.

These days, my kitchen table has one place mat now. It’s green cotton, and stained with something red in one corner, maybe blood. It’s the last one that is still usable. I’m honestly not sure why I’m still using it. I’ve read most of the books I have in the house, which is new for me. It’s been a while now since I’ve been on my own. I could check my phone to see the date, but there’s not much point anymore.