Jawline

Ben D'Alessio
Aug 22, 2017 · 4 min read

I began this particular spiral similar to the way Marcel Proust had his “moment” after biting into a madeleine during tea. Except my sponge cake was a crusty, flaky, Portuguese roll I had doused in Ken’s Steakhouse honey mustard during a lapse in strength that was so sumptuous I wanted to cry; then I helped myself to another. As I digested the bread and dressing, the aftertaste of guilt would coat the inside of my mouth like saliva before vomit. You see, I had given into the three o’clock burps that would set off like S.O.S. telegrams from my stomach as I lay on the couch trying to muscle through another chapter of The Brothers Karamazov —…

Keep the story going. Sign up for an extra free read.

You've completed your member preview for this month, but when you sign up for a free Medium account, you get one more story.
Already have an account? Sign in

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade