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EVANS EATS GARLIC

        "It would be really nice to eat garlic," mused Evans.
        He had no idea why the thought crossed his mind, but it did. At precisely the right moment. (Why was the moment correct? He did not know why. But he was sure that it was.)
        "Morale food," said the boss, greeting Evans as he walked in the door.
        And there it was, a big pizza heavy with garlic. Just the way Evans liked it.
        "Garlic sausages for dinner," said his wife, when he got home that evening.
        Maybe you could have too much of a good thing, but Evans ate greedily.
        He woke in the morning feeling like a very simple breakfast, cornflakes and milk, but the doorbell rang, bing-bong, and there was a TV crew outside, complete with smiles and cameras. They were from Hoi Polloi Television, happy to advise him that he had won the Hot Garlic Breakfast Competition, which he didn't remember having entered.
        One garlic breakfast later, Evans was on his way to work. Today's mission? To break the garlic cycle. Garlic is good, up to a point, but things were getting seriously out of hand.
        At work, Evans pleaded an upset stomach, turned down all food offers, and slipped out at lunchtime for a simple green salad. At least, that was what it ordered, but it came complete with not entirely unexpected slices of raw garlic.
        "I'm sorry, honey," said Evans to his wife, later that day. "I'm going to be home late. I have to work at the office."
        The "have to" was a lie, but he did work, diligently, until it was time to get on the last train home.
        "Done it," said Evans, leaning back in his seat, trying to ignore the oppressively fat straphanger who was leaning over him.
        He felt weary but satisfied. He'd done two things. He'd cleaned up his backlog and he'd also broken the garlic curse. (If it was a curse.) Because nobody had offered him garlic for two and a half hours now. (He'd been timing it.)
        Evans yawned, hugely. And that was when the fat straphanger barfed, unleashing an avalanche of smooth stuff mixed with chunky stuff. A generous helping splashed right into Evans's mouth, and, as he spat it out, he could not help but register the truth.
        Yes, it was garlic-flavored.

Copyright © 2006 Hugh Cook

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