I was glad to see the back of dialogue (see below), and we adjourned for lunch. A simple exercise followed upon our return. The brief was to capture “our last meal”. We were given the following cue – your last meal – to capture the immediacy and wealth of the senses. I opted for a more perverse sense of “my last meal”. Here it is.
The piece:
A peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That was what I loved as a kid. That’s what I asked for last night.
The bread was stale, a little mouldy, a little joke the warden played.
But the peanut butter didn’t want to stay stuck on the ceiling of my mouth.
They say you don’t truly live until you face your own death. This was a meal that would put me off food.
