Consumer

He had been stacking dominoes for hours. For two hours he sat in his only chair and arranged black plastic rectangles in a circle, a pattern spiraling into itself. The lightbulb swung overhead. When he flicked a switch it would turn on. When he pressed the bulb it would sway. He cast a shadow on the sink and oven. He cast a shadow on the refrigerator. Inside the refrigerator was milk and cheese and juice and condiments. The dominoes did not move. He grabbed milk and a glass. The milk was full of lumps and chunks of milk. It was old milk. This made sense. He poured the glass and drank it. The lumps grazed over his teeth and under his tongue. The smell was worse. The cheese was green on the edges, soft and pliable in the center. He bit into the cheese and swallowed. The gap between his front teeth filled. The dominoes did not move. He poured orange juice into the same glass. The orange juice was fresh. He poured mustard and mayonnaise and relish into the glass and drank that too. These flavors were not complimentary. His stomach flared and gasped. It tried to make sense of its contents, and failed. He threw away the milk and cheese and condiments. The orange juice was still fresh. He vomited. The light reflected off the regurgitated rotten contents. He was on his knees when his elbow bumped the table. The dominoes began to fall. They came to lay flat in a circle, a pattern spiraling into itself. He stood up and saw the dominoes. The pattern was simple. He cleaned up the vomit. When he pressed a switch the light turned off. The bulb did not move.