There is no flavor better than a meal earned by predatory prowess. The finest meal I’ve ever had was the one I paid far too much for reveling in the pain of a strained lower back and battered wrist from a long weekend of selling my work to every beating heart that walked past. I have enjoyed the extra time with my family lately and moments available to appreciate what I’ve worked for but I am eager for the next convention. It is an intoxicating breakdown of my spine as I slowly water and grow the clump of cash in my pocket that kneads a bruise where it presses between my leg and the ergonomically torturous convention chairs. It is the only precursor to the most excellent of meals.
