A Nightly Occurence

Strangers squeezed around him, he was as a rock in a stream, buffeted by an unceasing flow of pedestrians. He looked like Splice star Adrien Brody had been massively bulking up for a poorly considered role in a Big Momma's House sequel. He had an eagle eye for these things, lying half eaten on a bench was a mars bar. He tried tacking this way and that in the flow, desperately trying to reach the object of his desire.

He made slow but steady progress, he had quickly abandoned common courtesy and was barging and pulling people past him, leveraging his substantial girth. He reached out his index finger and brushed the open wrapper, he couldn't quite grasp the wrapper between index and middle finger. So close. One last barge and he was there. Just as he raised his trophy to his lips a big hand grabbed his moo moo from the scruff of his neck, he choked pathetically.

Thrashing, covered in a patina of cold sweat he awoke with a start. He rolled onto his side, his sleep apnea had claimed another dreamy mars bar. His enormous neck fat deposits sometimes crushed his throat when his muscles relaxed into sleep. Sobbing pathetically he reached for the glass by his bed. Taking a sip of tepid brackish water from his glass he felt better. With a sound like a food processor blending rocks, his stomach alerted his to his malnourishment. Glancing at his watch he realised that he hadn't eaten in 29 minutes. Under a brooding sallow new moon he pulled on his moo moo and crocs and readied himself for another trip to McDonald's.