I-Land is where memories and experiences turn into short stories, personal journal entries and narration in first person, part memoir, part fiction, exploring topics such as the relation between humans and the societies they live in.

The True Colors Of An Express Breakfast: The Eggs, The Bacon, The Coffee

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[Previously on The True Colors Of An Express Breakfast: Spray on your favorite cologne and head back to the dining room for a helping of eggs and bacon.]

Next item on the delectable range of the express breakfast are the eggs. The gloriously fresh eggs, made fresh from egg paste and water, or instant egg powder mixed with milk powder and water to create a radioactive yellow base that has been scrambled into slop.

I call them eggzema. Pressed and flattened, they make for an easy sandwich, or a tidy omelette, whatever works for you. A bright yellow, almost fluorescent dish, the kind you’ll be able to locate even if the sun blows up and the world sinks into eternal darkness. No other dish can claim the ability to be a source of both protein and light.

Next to the iridescent eggzema lies the bacon. Beautiful smoky strips of delicious-looking pork sin, sitting marbled and crisp in their sweaty tin pan, begging to be chewed. You toss one in your mouth and bite into it, expecting to hear that ecstatic crunch, but your teeth bounce back as if they’ve hit rubber. You bite into it again, harder, but your jaw bounces open — doinnnnnng! — the bacon still intact in your mouth, as thick as tarp.

No worries, there’s ways around this temporary problem. You can mash this mouth-watering piece of tarp into submission using the full force of your teeth, because why did God give you teeth if not to chew through a stubborn piece of something. If that doesn’t work, you can always use the abrasive effect of the steaming black liquid brewing in the coffee pot next to you. A couple of swills of that stuff and crunch, tear, strip, the bacon chunk disintegrates in your mouth, kind of.

But you’re not in the mood for tarp soaked in boiled acidic tar. You prefer something cooler. Something equally potent but colorful and zingy.

Which brings us to the OJ . . .

(Oh, I forgot to mention the sausages. On second thought, let me not even go there.)

Watch this space for Part 5

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