THE COLD TRUTH
Refrigerators are holy monoliths. We bow before them daily, in gestures of self-abasement. These are the temples that sustain our bodies and minds. They preserve our urns of precious fluids, the salves to annoint our hot dogs, our salads, our sandwiches.
They are our archives: recent as this morning's strawberries, as ancient as the frozen trout of yesteryear. Here we secrete our failures, our hopes, and our paltry successes.
There are mysteries in these strange sealed caskets: oddities swathed in plastic, the remains of some brutal act wrapped in pink butcher paper.
home next page