IBob Lightfoot.

Hetti pens a story – a day in a life.

The Triumphant Weed


Bob Lightfoot held the large, shiny packet in his hand. It contained exactly 150 grams. He tore it open and removed the contents one by one. Piled them on top of the wooden table in front of him. A table full of dirty pots and pans, an opened jar of Strawberry Jam, a loaf of bread edged with blue/green mould, sweets in a glass jar, and cups; most of them still with a few mouthfuls of tea in their elegant china bottoms. Ignoring the mess, he concentrated on the back of the packet. Each bag had 7.6g of fat, 1.2g of sugar, 131 calories. The illuminating stats that proved things could be pushed down inside oneself. Two packets equalled hope. A sort of sensory appeasement, a steadying of all that could topple forward and spill over like a pool of sick on a clean shoe. Four packets began to lay…

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