by The Juicer

Gemma stared at the heavy wooden door: it was exactly like her grandma’s.

How did it get here, to this foreign land, she mused, when an old lady with long gray hair; the cook and the proprietor, appeared.

They were going to close, her grandma’s vision said.

Gemma begged: how could she not? She had been searching for hours,
while the city slumbered.

When the food arrived, it tasted nothing like her grandma’s.

Because grandma is no more.

She lapped it up anyway, forgetting her and everything else

in the sensational frenzy of appetite.

She was so hungry.