This is old. This bread is old. And stale. The flavor is gone, he said. Look. Other pieces are turning green. Mold, he tore off bits and examined them. Some kind of wheat bread. When I was a kid, my parents only bought white, he told him. We had bologna sandwiches on Bunny White Bread. Package had a rabbit on it. Some kind of deranged Bugs Bunny type character. Had a big smile on his face. We ate everything but the heels. We fed those to the birds. These black crows and orioles would fly into the backyard and eat the bread. Some would take off with pieces in their mouths. Their beaks holding onto small bits of bread, he lit a cigarette.

We could make toast, the other man said. Pick out the ones that aren’t green yet. Put butter on it. Bring it back to life, he laughed.

Nah. It’ll make you sick, he said. Just throw it away.

My mom used to tear around the mold, then serve it. That’s how poor we were; nothing wasted.

I guess I come from a different class. We threw that stuff out. The birds loved it. Why not share?

All I’m saying is maybe this is all we got, and we can’t get anymore. Not now. Not till payday, he looked in the refrigerator. Moved items around. Old jars of grape and strawberry jellies. Quarter stick of butter. A can of Spam. We got things to put on the bread, he said.

Check the dates.

He looked underneath and on the sides. There’s no dates. But, Spam and jelly last forever.

Are you out of your mind? Nothing lasts forever. Everything expires. Bread expires. Jelly expires. Butter, Spam, us, it all comes to an end. It dies. Keep that in mind.

The other man took a bite out of the old wheat bread. He swallowed it. Smiled. Tore off some more and placed grape jelly on it. Ate that. The Spam stood there in the refrigerator’s door. He opened the can and plopped the whole mass on a paper plate. Smeared it on a slice of bread. Looked at his friend and continued eating. Washed it all down with water from the faucet that he cupped in his hands. Smiled. Laughed.

I hope you’re happy.