It occurred to me as I was sitting alone in my motel room, staring at a single-serving of peanut butter, a stale bagel, a bruised banana, and a three-quarters c

It occurred to me as I was sitting alone in my motel room, staring at a single-serving of peanut butter, a stale bagel, a bruised banana, and a three-quarters cup of single-serving Folgers coffee with the non-dairy powdered creamer and sugar packet, that this is what living after the apocalypse will be like. The coffee tasted of burnt toast soaked in whey. And yet I knew that in a future post-apocalyptic wasteland, this meal would be a luxury traded like gold. It felt like peeking behind the curtain to some alternate future where I was blessed with a bounty few could hope for. For a moment, in that cup of coffee, was a vision of a different life. That bagel, a different country to explore. And yet somehow, in every motel with a continental breakfast, that universe still exists, waiting to be visited.