The Missing Tomato

The Missing Tomato

By 265



         Two days ago I went to the food store.  I was running low on mineral water, fresh vegetation, and mango licorice, and happened to be going past the grocery store on my way back from my mate’s house.  We had been up all night on cocaine and marijuana, celebrating the coming of the Snow.  Waking up around about noon, I caught the underground elevated line to the proximity of my neighborhood.  This was how I found myself at the food store.



         While there, I purchased a fresh basil plant and three large, firm tomatoes.  Upon coming home and putting the plant into a freshly cleaned jar, I immediately began making my first lazy Saturday insalata caprese grilled cheese sandwich.  Fried in a light amount of extra virgin olive oil, it was just what I needed to settle into my couch and not move, but only to make a subsequent sandwich.  I made two sandwiches on Saturday, and the following Sunday I made one sandwich.  This allotted me one bun, sufficient basil and cheese, and roughly two and a quarter tomatoes when I left my apartment to meet with my chum.



         With my chum and his mate, I spent the evening at a smoker’s bar consuming various drinks.  The best, blackberry brandy.  The worst, well wine.  Realizing that I had work on Monday, I proceeded to rush out of the bar at 9:30 p.m., entirely inebriated, and got back onto the underground elevated line.  Stumbling home from the station stop, my memory begins to short circuit and by the time I reach my house I am essentially asleep.  I do however remember taking off my clothes and going into the kitchen, my standard first choice every time I enter my apartment.



         I woke up today around 4:30 a.m., went to the refrigerator to drink some cold water, and then rolled around until I had to get up for work at 7:30 a.m.  I recently returned home around 6:15 p.m. and retrieved the thins and hummus from the kitchen.  I rolled a bombadil and two hours ago I walked into the kitchen to put the hummus back to its icy home.  While in the kitchen I noticed that there were no more buns and only one tomato on the counter.  I instantly remembered that the previous night I had forgotten about the quarter tomato in the fridge and instead cut into a fresh tomato to make the last of the insalata caprese grilled cheese sandwiches.



         With the missing bun now verified, I turned to the fridge to place the hummus back.  As I glanced at the contents of my box as I closed the door, I noticed that there was only the quarter tomato inside.  The second cut tomato, which I assumed I had placed either wrapped or unwrapped into the fridge last night, was nowhere to be found.  I searched my entire apartment including my trashcan, toilet tank, and broiler, and there was no sign of the tomato.  Completely frazzled I sat onto my couch and thought to myself how many tomatoes did I buy yesterday?