I Thought It Was Hell
I was walking down the street when a man standing at a storefront for luxury bedspreads beckoned me inside for endless wine, cheese and bread. Far from rich and always suspicious of the super polite, eagerly saccarine stranger, a random offer for free food gets me wet enough not to question intentions. I only live below my means so I can stack money, which usually means buying Devil’s Spring over Grey Goose. However, when the vice becomes free, my textbook glutton emerges.
From the wine to the cheese to the bread and butter and oil back to the wine back to the cheese over to the olives back to the wine back to the bread and (oh shit!) mini quiches and more bread and butter, then take the glass of wine over to sit on one of those $10 trillion dollar beds because after all this is a fancy opening for rich people who can afford dope ass shit.
As I set my brimming wine glass on the nightstand and settled under the sheets with chipmunk cheeks for a mini drunk nap, I startled myself with a troubling thought:
This could be hell. That dude could have been a demon in a human suit tricking the frugal into gluttony and a eternity of torment. I could be trapped here forever, even after the limited supply of food ends. Nothing this good has ever been true, so it must not be real. And if it is real, it must be hell.
If it was hell I wasn’t waiting to find out. I finished my glass, guzzled another, and booked it with some pillow incense and a warm Italian loaf underneath my armpit.
The rich don’t care about free shit because they have so much money everything feels free. Gluttony is lost on them, and when the poor get a taste of it they mistake it for hell because it seems too good to be true.