Sometimes situations sprout up like dandelions like pokeweed like returning columbines, draw a line to remind you what side you’re on. A rage rooted deep a basement buried under a thousand tornados mud swept by sideways falling rain, excavated and dragged under bright buzzing laboratory lights.

There’s no comfort in your favorite chair. No relaxation in a cold NA beer. No solace in the berry blast hydration infused water. But there is crunchy peanut butter.

And for the moment it has to be enough.