Confessions of a Human Nerve Ending

-for Olivia Gatwood Another take out meal, bought lunch, thoughtless consumption of food, my wife asks, "Why don't you eat at home?" Because fast food grease still burns, and rice, potatoes, eggs, beans still blacken pots in my imagination. Because I still dream about food, about restaurant kitchens, fast food shake machines and consumable lubricant, contraptions that slice tomatoes with merely a push, steamer cabinets that hiss and moan as you open them like you are opening a safe, heating element plate warmers melting cheese on full plates that I pull from the "sky" with callused hands, forearm skin that remembers the splash of hot sauces, water dropped in hot oil, and the stench. Because grease coated my clothes and shoes as I scrambled for change in my sash. Because I still dream about not getting to my tables in time, not filling that iced tea fast enough, or about having another conversation with the bar r...