> saginaw youths trade gunshots, steal minivan, and lead police on a wild chase, the local news announces faintly from the living room tv. the broadcast flickers, barely audible over the obscene sounds of andre licking another cookie clean. the creme dissolves in his mouth, a sickly combination of 13 grams of sugar and 2 grams of saturated fat per serving. each stroke of his tongue is slow, deliberate, and dripping with self-loathing, much like the economic prospects of his city. as andre reaches for another cookie, the headlines continue to scroll by.  > "woman critically injured in crash at dangerous flint intersection." > "man pleads guilty after alleged threat to gut michigan sheriff." > "saginaw woman arrested in bra, underwear sues city, 4 police officers." the irony is suffocating. while saginaw grapples with its ever-climbing crime rates and infrastructural decay, andre is locked in battle with a far more personal demon: the creme filling of his 7th oreo. his lips smack grotesquely as he works his tongue along the edges of the cookie, ensuring no trace of creme remains. the wafersmere delivery devices for the sugary pasteare discarded in a growing pile of shame to his left. > gov. whitmer orders flags to be flown at half-staff in memory of trooper joel popp, the anchor solemnly intones. meanwhile, andres tongue has reached the center of yet another oreo. the creme yields to his relentless assault, its flavorless sweetness lingering on his taste buds like the regrets he refuses to confront. he doesnt stop to reflect on the absurdity of it allthe diabetic coma hes surely courting, the dead cat named after these very cookies, or the fact that his city is falling apart while he sits here, debasing himself.
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