Bwogger Sophie Tobin brings you a simple tale of love, loss, and fried mozzarella cheese. 

It’s 5 am. An ungodly hour to still be awake. After a long night of procrastination peppered with momentary spurs of productivity, you trudge to JJ’s to reward yourself with something deep fried. You swipe in, and enter the kitchen, and are greeted by the smell of grease and the sound of indistinct rap music. You glance around the room, searching for something that will reinvigorate you, at least enough for the walk back home.

There’s nothing at the salad bar, the ice cream machines are off, but then… under the warming lights, you spot them. The most beautiful thing your sleep-deprived eyes could possibly comprehend. A lone tray of mozzarella sticks. Are they probably stale from sitting out for so long? Absolutely. Are they probably the kind that isn’t even stretchy? Undoubtedly. But they’re going to be yours nonetheless.

And that’s when you see him. A fellow sufferer of the all-nighter. Under any other circumstances, you would hit him with the “I see you and feel your struggle” nod. But not now. In this very moment, he is your sworn enemy. Your eyes narrow. A tumbleweed rolls through the kitchen. There’s only one serving of food sitting under the lights. And it’s your mozzarella sticks the universe had oh-so-cruelly promised you.

You see him shuffling toward them from the dining area, completely unaware of the diabolical crime against humanity he is about to commit. He’s within an arm’s reach before you can comprehend how dirty your fellow man is about to do you. He snatches them up, scarfing them down like the savage he has just revealed himself to be. How could the world be so cruel? While you were busy imagining a Western film-esque standoff, he was robbing you of what was rightfully yours. How long have you been standing there? Who knows. You resign yourself to a coffee cup full of pretzels and call it a night.