midnight craving... guess the food!

I woke up. I shouldn’t have woken up. It is still dark outside. I figured it was 4 o’clock. But I needed something. Something on my tongue. Something to fulfill these notorious cravings. So I began my search. I went down the stairs, and opened my fridge. Leftover barbecue chicken…. No. milk, o j, peanut butter…. No. Something salty, something spicy. I need it now, or something might go terribly wrong. I slam the fridge door in frustration. Then walk ten paces to the laundry room. I through on a pair of jeans, a white tee shirt, and a navy blazer. I quickly brush my bedhead, and rapidly storm out of the house. I sprint to the car, I jam my key into the ignition. I reverse, then accelerate. I need this. I need it. The roads are dark. I flip on my high beams. I look at the clock, 3 30. I was close. I see a McDonalds. No. Chikfila. Not even. Nothing is open. I want a diner, an extensive menu that way I might find what I’m desperately longing for. Closed, closed, closed. I turn around. I want a burger. No. I want a salad. Heck no! WHAT DO I WANT? I can taste it, the texture is like a meatball, soft and juicy. Crispy. A fried meatball? No, no meat. what is it? Airport. I need to find it. I need to search deeper. I park the car. I run into the large, boring building. “Flights!” I yell. “What are your available flights?!” I run up to the desk, waking up innocent bystanders from their jet lagging naps.

         “I have one available to Lebanon. in 10 minutes. There is a layover in Japan, only a few hours. Do you have cash?” I pull out my wallet. I throw one hundred dollars cash on the desk.

         “Please, let me go. This is all I have and I need to satisfy my yearning soul.”

         “I am so sorry, miss but I just cant let you do that. This flight costs eight hundred dollars.” She says it so innocently. Doesn’t she have a heart?

         Spicy, Sweet, Juicy, Breading… Cayenne.

         “Fine!” right when I was about to storm out, and go rob a bank, I remember. My brand new credit card. I turn back around. “Wait!” I said. I fling my credit card at her, and she  surprisingly catches it like a pro. But that didn’t take my eyes off the prize. I move on. Swipe, button mash, “Here you go, miss.” I snatch the card from her.

         Oh no. I forgot. Security. I flew through as fast as I can. I board my plane. Its still dark. Airplane food… hmm…

I scroll down the menu. I find a thing called “Swedish meatballs” I order. The flight attendant seemed to be falling asleep. She slowly made her way from my seat to the back of the plane. Oh. No. Go faster! I want my meatballs.

         I begin to think. Onion, beans. Beans? In a meatball? Minutes go by. Minutes and minutes. I smell my meatball. The aroma flows through my nose, through my esophagus into my stomach, almost filling me. I know even before it comes to me, it’s not it. Why? Why me? I begin a pity party. It lasts 4 hours until my plane lands in Japan.

         Chicken? NO! BEANS!!!

         I wondered where I could get beans in Japan. I exit the airport. I have nothing but the shirt on my back, and my wallet. I’m not sure how I will get home, or if I will even accomplish this mission.