It’s 7:13 PM. You finally made it home from work, after dealing with horrendous traffic on your commute, and you’re starving. As you pull open your refrigerator a feeling of dread washes over you; you forgot to go grocery shopping. There’s a partial stick of butter in the door, a half-full jug of orange juice of questionable age, and a tupperware container of something that you know has gone bad but that you can’t bring yourself to actually remove. The cupboards are similarly barren. With one final Hail Mary, you pull open the freezer and half-heartedly rummage around empty ice cube trays and an alarming number of bags of frozen peas.
40 in 40: David Phelps
