Friendly Grocer

I have beans and meat at home. A mixture of the two thrown into a pot two nights prior and combined with various spices, tomatoes and chilli’s has mutated into some kind of nachos.
This nachos at home in the fridge, in the tupperware, calls to me as I ride my bike over the Anzac Bridge. «Eat me!» I hear it say in it’s mexican but westernised accent. «Eat me!» It comes again on the stiff breeze that nearly throws me off the structure to my definite and destined demise.
I cycle through the backstreets parallel to the City West Link and I realise there is a problem with my ravenous red bean rendezvous. I have no side to go with it, no tortilla, taco or corn chip. What is a girl to do? What is a boy to do? What is a hermaphrodite to do?
I don’t want to get some kind of cheesy, greasy corn chip in thin metal foil packaging and bright coloured logos. I want something that I can eat and even if it isn’t the case, pretend that I’m actually being moderately healthy about the whole thing.
I lock up my bike and enter the Friendly Grocer in Lilyfield. After a short scan of the products on the shelf, I locate a packet of Spinach Corn Chips; coloured green and professing to be moderately healthy. They’re wrapped in plastic and have no branding on their body. Just a white box with nutritional information displayed and the ingredients accounted for.
I pay the friendly grocer, who in this case is very friendly and continue on my way, leaving the small corner store supermarket full of groceries, lollies and drinks for my nachos who despite being closer than ever has turned its screams of desire into soft gentle whispers of knowing acceptance.