CIX. Trap Snacks. March 22, 2023

>driving Lyft

>my passenger comes sprinting out of her house

>gets in the back seat

>rolls down the window

>starts yelling back at the house

>”Bitch you better hurry up! Trap Snacks!”

>”Whoo! Trap Snacks!” yells the lady trying to lock the front door

>she loses a shoe as she speed walks

>has to stop and retrieve it

>”Hurry up! She gone leave if we don’t get there! She at the whatchacallit, the plasma place!”

>their hurry is infectious

>I do speed a bit, I must confess

>they pool their money in the back seat and tell me about trap snacks

>trap snacks are the best shit ever

>you ain’t never seen them in stores or on whatchacallit, Amazon

>this lady makes them special, and when she runs out

>she runs out

>might not see her again for weeks

>sure enough

>in the parking lot of the plasma place

>the Trap Snack Lady has set up shop

>people are lined up behind the open trunk of a Hyundai Elantra

>my passengers join the line

>they promise to give me a Trap Snack if I promise not to leave

>I promise

>when they come back, they have one of those gallon-sized ice cream buckets

>inside rest the Trap Snacks in all their glory

>they hand me one and start dividing the rest equally

>I believe the recipe for a Trap Snack is as follows

>get a hunk of pineapple the size and shape of a roll of nickels

>coat it with a layer of white sugar and Fruity Pebbles

>then coat it with another layer

>then coat it with, fuck I don’t know, even more layers upon layers of sugar and Fruity Pebbles until it is thicker than the pancake makeup worn by Elizabeth I

>serve and enjoy

>it looks like one of those calcified dog turds from the eighties

>if the dog in question also ate your Lite Brites

>I know I must try it, for propriety’s sake

>I don’t want to offend them or embarrass myself

>so I bite into the Trap Snack

>and it’s like when Roland Deschain drank Pepsi

>or when John of Patmos ate the scroll

>I can feel future cavity developments being surveyed and staked out

>my pancreas immediately adds another production shift

>I get a blinding headache in my ear somehow

>I realize that eating the whole thing would kill me dead

>my blood would congeal into Hardee’s sweet tea

>”Ooh, it’s good as hell, ain’t it?” says one of my passengers

>she has a Trap Snack in each hand

>bites both of them like bananas

>yes, absolutely it’s good

>I’m just gonna save the rest for later