Fiction: "Good Taste," Pigeon Review
“Green peas. Salted peanuts. Cherries, warm in my backpack, plucked from the mesh, pits popped through the mouth of an empty water bottle. Potato chips left open at the beach long enough to take on a little sand, grit in my teeth.
I was trying to remember them as quickly as I could before I forgot. My cousin on the other coast said that when it started, nobody felt much of a difference, until one day when she realized she couldn’t remember what chocolate tasted like.”
