Finding you have lost your mind
The sound of the Harley echoed in his mind long after it had passed. Here he had thought that he was essentially alone in the world and in just two days he had met a total of three people, or at least seen evidence of three people. And only one of those three had killed themselves, that was a good score he reckoned.
He had had an irresistible urge to run after the Harley, but before he could collect his thoughts it was long gone.
He decided to roam around the town a little and see if there was anything that he would would like to get his hands on, before he headed back home. There had been enough adventure for a month or so he figured.
He said his good/bye to the bum and headed down the empty walking-street. Barely 500 meters further down the road, he stopped up outside a Foot-locker - he admired a pair of converse that stood on one of the shelves. Strolling further down the road he came by a bakery, the door was half-open and as he stepped into the darkness it still smelled of bread and pasteurizes. there was still some bread! He grabbed a loaf enthusiastically and to his great dismay, it was hard. So hard that when he tossed it across the room, it bounced off the window and slid across the floor, without as much as a crack in it. The register popped open with a 'ding!', for just a second he felt the surge of excitement as he saw the money that was lying there, totally up for grabs. But it took him just a second to realize that of course the cash had no value any longer as there was no one to trade it with and literally everything in the whole world was his, if he could get himself there and had big enough bags to drag it home. It was an odd feeling to have Everest, but at the same time have nothing. But why not enjoy it?
He decided right there to pretend that there were people all around him, it might be that he was actually losing his mind, but he did not care, he was in the moment and he was enjoying it. He smiled and waved right and left as he hopped down the walking street, nowhere and them dodging some imaginary pedestrian who did not move out of his way. He stopped to argue with an imaginary bearded man who was selling grilled corn, he smiled as he walked away with a delicious imaginary corn, extra salted, which he had managed to get for a lower prize than the normal. He saw a JB shoe-store, the door was locked, , but it nothing a few cobblestones could not handle. He stepped in and told the imaginary staff that he did not need help, and that he was just looking. He strolled around and headed over to the converse area. Perfect, there they were the classic black converse - he eyed them for a little, before deciding on the yellow converse. His red kicks were worn-out and he tossed them across the shop were they bounced off a mannequin face and torso, Jonas apologized - but then laughed as he realized that he was apologizing to a mannequin - he slapped his knee in high spirits - even the imaginary staff, a young man with a thin moustache, nodded at Jonas and laughed at the fact. Satisfied he danced out of the store. He walked over to the fast-food joint called MAX that lay across the Old Square - in a freezer in the back he found some hamburgers and buns and got busy making himself a feast. he was sitting at the window aisle enjoying a dry but fantastic burger, the imaginary staff over at the counter asked him how it tasted and he threw up a thumb and said "Great man!" with a mouth full hindering his fluent speech. As he looked past the smiling man at the counter he noticed a fridge right behind the counter - the light was still on! He threw down his sizzling hot burger and dashed to and over the counter. He slapped his palms against the glass and stared into the fridge. THERE! Right there there was an entire shelf with coffee milk. He slid the glass door aside and pushed the imaginary staff away who was trying to stop him. In a happy frenzy he grabbed a little packet and inspected its expiration date. IT STILL HAD A YEAR LEFT! He pulled of the little aluminum cover and squeezed the milk down his mouth. MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILK! It tasted of milk. He was in ecstasy. This was happiness. This was the shit! He had made it! He had found milk against all odds! He grabbed a fist full and slammed them down by his burger - this would be the feast of a lifetime. As he was about to take another bite of his burger he noticed that there was a rumble in the air and the Harley suddenly appeared outside the joint. He gaped and the food fell out of his mouth. there was a helmet figure on the bike, a lad it seemed, the head turned, the person seeming to survey the area- the helmet stopped at the person inside it spotted Jonas. He was frozen in choc and quietly wondering if this was part of the fact that he had fond that he had lost his mind...
Join Jonas next Saturday for another taste of milk and insanity.
Brought to you by Amadreas Media
bim bam bum
Coming back to consciousness was weird. He was in the weird state of mind that in his unconsciousness he had blissfully forgotten all about the conundrum and destitute situation that his current life was in and had lapsed into an odd but pleasurable alternate reality. But he was not in a canoe and there was no river of milk.
Jonas sat up and touched his forehead where a bump had now been added to his forehead. He winced and thought to himself that perhaps his obsession with milk was going a bit to far. Perhaps he had already lost his mind and the knock on the head had brought him back to his senses.
But ... he still wanted milk.
He stood up slowly in the dark store and looked around. There was no bum to be seen, he quickly checked himself for stab-wounds and sighed in relief.
It had become dark out, but he could see some light from outside the 7/Eleven and so he crawled out through the hole in the glass. Out there in the middle of the walking-street, was the bum, squatting in front of a little fire that was well under way. the bum looked over his shoulder and spotted Jonas, he did not seem to care and idly returned to stoking the fire.
Jonas stumbled a bit and took the hint, beginning to walk off down the road.
"HEY - where you think you going maybe?!" the bum's raspy voice rang out. Jonas turned.
"Home I think."
"How about you stay here - it dark now out here. Best to stay here to the morning." The bum said and waved him over. Jonas thought to himself that this bum probably had changed his mind while he had been unconscious and wanted the social company. "Yes and I think we both can use the company no?" The bum chimed in with Jonas's thoughts.
"Sure." Jonas said as he squatted opposite the bum, he was relieved not having to walk all the walk back and sure he could use the company of 'Mister Bum'.
"I used to be a doctor you know. Surgeon." The bum said unprovoked. Jonas nodded. "But then I found drugs you know - could not think man - so here I am. Sausage?" The bum handed him one with a dirty hand, Jonas was to tired to care and accepted it - it tasted fantastic. "You refused to leave huh yes? To the moon I mean."
"Delta." Jonas corrected. The bum frowned.
"What you say?!"
"Delta - it's Planet Delta they went to."
"Ah okay - Moon, Sun, Jupitar - big fucking difference - all fucking balls up there out in the big open. You refuse to go huh?"
"I overslept." Jonas answered - the bum froze half ways through sausage and stared at Jonas. Then a grin split his leathery face and four toothed smile was joined by a boisterous laughter that echoed all around, like a mob all laughing. He laughed so much he got the better half of a sausage stuck in his throat, coughed it up and returned to loudly chewing.
"And you - your still here too?" Jonas ventured.
"Ya, I knew not anything. I have a... you know... what the fuck it called... eeh træ-hus... you know house in the tree.."
"Yes! Fucking exactl. That's what it was - tree-house. I stay out there for long time, living naturally ecology and such you know and I one late night see big fire in heavens - and fuck I think - it's the rockets-"
"Space-Carriers." Jonas inserted.
"What?! Oh maybe - and these rockets are taken off and I think fuck - fuck you know. Rest is history - now I am king."
The bum chewed through another sausage and after punching his tattered bag a few times, he slid it under his head and seemed about to fall asleep.
Jonas sat silently, the world slowly coming back together for him, the pieces beginning to slide back into their correct places and the recent evens came back to plague him.
"Have you seen anybody else?" Jonas asked, the bum opened up his eyes annoyed.
"Have you seen anybody else, out here, alive I mean - like other than me?"
"Nah." The bum answered and attempted to close his eyes again, but Jonas was not just making small-talk.
"Just because, like, I saw this man drown himself today - and well he did not seem very sane."
"Man couldn't swim huh?"
"I don't know if I would call him a man..."
"Well, he was like really dirty and-" The bum sat up, clearly offended.
"I am really dirty! It's a choice! I don't let this society tell me what I am - I am me by choice and-"
"Not just dirty - that's not what I meant! Chill out - the world has ended but people are still offended... He was not just dirty, he was naked, and not to offend nudists if that is what you are too, he was running on all four and literally ran off the docks into the harbor, trying to get to me and like frickin' drowned immediately! Like if you were a sentient fucking human-being you would at least have known - 'Oh I can't swim.' and not just run straight into the damn water. Like he drowned! He did not even slightly surface - it was like seeing a stone drop into water - 'plop!' and it was gone!"
Somehow the bum was now seated right next to Jonas and had a hand on his shoulder, he stopped himself from shrugging it off as a reflex, it would not have been polite he figured, even if the bum smelled like days-old-piss.
"Hey man - I understand yes. Shit happens and you have seen it. It shall probably go." The bum said and took back his hand and moved back to his spot. Jonas did not feel he had been understood, but then again he was not sure he understood all that the bum was saying, his Danish accent thick and interspersed with periodic mumbling.
The bum closed his eyes.
"But did you understand that he was running on all four?" Jonas broke out, the bum opened his eyes and seemed about to start cursing when he seemed to regain control of himself and looked over at Jonas.
"All for what?"
"Like on all four - like running with his arms and legs?"
Jonas explained, the bum raised his eye-brows unimpressed.
"No, not jogging. Damn it - I'll show you." So Jonas stood up and demonstrated with difficulty how the man had been running using all four limbs.
"That the way he ran?" the bum asked.
"Yes! Like that!" Jonas exclaimed, relieved that he had gotten through to the man.
"Drugs." The bum stated confidently and closed his eyes again. Jonas stood silent - dismayed at the result of his efforts.
He did not sleep that night, not because he was thinking about the conundrum of having no milk - but because every time he fell asleep the crazed man running on all four would return to haunt him inside his own eye-lids.
As morning broke and the sun started to light up the city, he was still siting there. At first he thought the sound was in his weary head, but as it grew louder he stood up. It sounded like.... like a ... a Harley!
Join us next Saturday for Episode 7!
milk comes at a price.
Watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the water, caught him in a conflict. His initial reaction was to think he had to jump in after the man, the fool obviously could not swim and was effectively dying somewhere there at the bottom of the channel. Countering this initial reaction was the fact he did not want to - based on the fact that the man had seemed hostile and without logic.
The bubbles stopped coming and a chill ran down his back, cognizant that he had just let a human being die and he had done nothing! He shifted a bit nervously, and looked around to see if anyone had seen him in his omission to help. Obviously there was none, as it was after all the end of the world and there was a general shortage of people anywhere.
After a good 10 min he got himself out of the mental web that he had tumbled into and managed to get his body moving on over the bridge. He strolled down the now so expansive looking Amager Boulevard - heading for the very heart of Copenhagen.
The world had been very troubled for the last decade or so, but Copenhagen had kept it peaceful, while other nations dissolved into near anarchy as the time for evacuation drew closer. So the city was still intact and the pride the Danes had in their city was such that although they were all certain that there was no chance that the place would survive, they had kept the streets swept and the buildings clean up to the very last days. He stopped in front of a bus-stop, with it's glass framed advertisement.
"DANES COLONY ON PLANET DELTA SECURED!"
It said in large red letters, underneath the title stood the last PM, Jørgen Steengaard in a blue-pin-striped suit and a wide grin. The message below said in white fat letters: "VOTE JØRGEN STEENGAARD FOR COLONY DK PM." He smiled, he had voted for him and he had won - nevertheless he had an urge to vandalize the poster, but realized as he saw his haggered reflection, that none would see his work and figured it pointless.
Man, did he wish that he had made it with everybody else to Planet Delta. The voyage there would take the population about 3 years - 3 years of travelling at top speed through the dark of space with no pit-stops. He had been following the whole development and the political debates on just how an entire planet's population would be evacuated. Earth was estimated to encounter its demise in the span of the next year, according to the brightest of minds and their algorithms and what not. He knew that none would be coming back and he knew for sure that he was doomed to perish with the planet. The carrier-spaceships sent off were not built for changing trajectory, they were locked in on the direction needed to arrive at planet Delta and that was the entire design off it. Even if after the ship arrived three years into the future and someone decided to circle back and look for survivors on Earth, then that would add another 3 years, meaning 6 years in total and considering that doom was calculated to happen within a year: he knew that he was pretty royally screwed.
He came by a 7/Eleven, its doors had been blocked with stacks of street construction equipment that someone had, most likely in a binge of drinking, pilled up, as it was collected in the imitation of a tent. He went around the corner of the shop - the main entrance was the only entrance. It struck him that he was acting oddly like the good citizen he used to be, but was there any point in being a good citizen when there no longer was any civilization there? Having found a few cobble-stones he stood a distance back and began tossing the small bastards at the glass, bit by bit the glass shattered and broke off in pieces. Just when his arms had gotten so tried that he did not think he could muster another throw, a chunk off it fell off and - voila - he had a small entrance he could crawl in through. Pushing away the shards of glass he got in on his hands and knees. He scuttled over to the cooler - it was still cool! He frantically searched through the racks of beverages until his fingers found a carton of milk! It was cold! He laughed out loud and popped off the plastic lid - he stuck his nose in and took a wiff - it smelled fine! Joyously he turned it 180 vertically and let the cool cold milk flow. One swallow, two swallows - ahhhh - three swall- He gagged and fell onto his knees - he could not breath! He tried to cough, but could not! He looked around wildly for some answer on the shelves of snacks - chocolate bars could not help him now. He fumbled around and tried to hit his throat, that just hurt! He tried to perform a Heimlich Maneuver by punching himself in the gut - nothing changed! He was getting lightheaded, the pressure in his head was building dangerously and the panic was coming close to tipping over into full-on despair. He tried to stand but toppled and fell onto the floor flat. He could not get up! He realized that he was about to die right there, right then - the victim of milk. A tear snuck out from his left eye and he went from despair to apathy - maybe this was the way he dies- Someone hit him hard on his back! Again! And Again! Someone was stomping him! In his bewilderment he stupidly wondered why someone would attack a dying man. A final heavy foot came down hard on the middle of his back, pain shot through his spine and chest - a fist-full sized chunk of mucus-like milk-gone-bad shot out from his mouth and splattered on the gray floor, like a slimy ball of mozzarella.
"Hva' fa'en har du gang i knægt?" a rough voice said. Still wheezing he rolled over on his back and caught sight of what could only be an old haggered bum with a gray frazzled beard that stuck out in all directions.
The bum had spoken danish and a censored English version of his question would sound something like this: "Hello boy. What are you doing?"
He stood up quick and wiped the milk from his chin.
The bum assumed he did not speak danish as he had not answered and switched over to a broken English. "HELLO. WHO FUCK ARE YOU? THIS MY HOUSE YOU KNOW."
He felt like a little kid being told off.
"I am Jonas - I just wanted some milk and-" he started, the bum shook his head and pulled out a knife from his jacket-pocket.
"Fandens osse! IT WAS RETORICAL QUESTION - NOW YOU GET OUT!" The bum took a step forward and Jonas spun on his feet in panic and ran, smashing right into the side of shelf. Pain shot through his eye-brow and his vision went black. Unconscious - his mind drifted to a place where he was sailing down a river of milk in a canoe.
NEW EPISODES OUT EVERY SATURDAY
a man is not a fish
A week had gone by and the magnitude of the 'mundanity' had struck him deep, he was a self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie, or at least had been before he had his biggest ever cluster-fuck happen; missing to get on the last shuttle of the planet. The epicness of his failure and the realization that he would perish alone in a city that was only inhabited by himself, ghosts and one individual named Tom, had left him in a lethargic apathy, from which he saw no reason climb out off. There was all the food in the world, all the time in the world, since the globe had not gone up in smoke yet, as the government had promised would happen. He had no boss to please or rent to pay. While this latter was a relief, yet it left him without a purpose and without a mission and he had now learnt the life lesson that there was no freedom in utter freedom from everything and everybody.
Now the strangest thing had happened - he had found a new purpose.
His preference for milk as part of his diet and the fact that the city was totally out of milk - had given him a new purpose. However fragile and laughable that purpose, it was one and he clinged to it like a one would a plank of wood out at sea.
Armed with his 4.5 millimeter air-rifle and his red kicks, he started on thee journey which would become the start of his new life. His destination?
The library - the tomb of knowledge.
The sun was on the rise from the east and benignly warmed his face, he had considered going to the next town which had it's own library, but on second thought he wanted to make sure he found the information that he was looking for and so he was headed for the Central Library of Copenhagen. He took the route along the coast, getting sand in his shoes as he walked. White fluffy clouds crept across the baby-blue sky, the blue-grey ocean resisting the sky's optimism - he kicked off his shoes and lost himself in following the display of acrobatics, which a gang of swallows were performing death-defyingly close to the angry waves. For those few kilometers he walked he lost his thoughts in the sea and it's companions who seemed not to have noticed the end of humanity's reign on the planet. He felt released and care-free, slanting towards agreeing with the birds that all that had occurred was 'no big deal'.
As he crossed the "LongBridge" that connected the island of Amager to the very center of Copenhagen, the sun was higher and burnt his shoulders, he stopped like he often did and admired the view of the so-called "Island-Harbour". He spotted a speed-boat abandoned, its two gigantic motors promising adventure. He decided he would check it out on his way back, maybe he could get it started. He smiled as he realized, that he could also look up some books on ignitions in the library, so he could learn to hot-wire vehicles and specifically that speed-boat. His adrenaline pumped as he realized he could, if he learnt to hot-wire, find ANY car he wanted and ride ride ride! Lamborghini, Ferrari, Porsche...
His transient moment of bliss was interrupted as he spotted a figure moving along the harbor, he gripped the railing hard and leant forward, squinting his eyes to see.
It WAS a man and what's more it was not Tom! Someone else was here! He opened his mouth to yell, but something inside him made him hesitant in hollering out. As a precaution he loaded his pellet shooter and observed the man a bit longer. The man was hunched over and moved in an odd ragged way, stopping from time to time to pick something up and either put it in his mouth or toss it away dismissively. It was as if he all of a sudden got his vision adjusted, as it dawned on him that the man was NAKED! He wore nothing, except thick dirt and hair left to grow unhindered.
He stood undecided on what to do now - this was after all only the third person he had seen since the incident and there might not be others, but conversely he would not want to have that man near him. He decided to keep walking, but as if on cue, as soon as he had thought the thought, the man jerked his head up and looked straight at him.
The man growled! He then pointed up at him as if accusingly. With a louder growl he threw himself on all four and ran like a mad monkey in a side-ways manner in his direction. He aimed the pellet gun, but could not get himself to shoot, besides he would probably miss at this distance and altitude. The idiocy of running straight in his direction did not seem apparent to the man who picked up speed, there was water between them and 10 meters distance vertically to where he stood safely on top of the bridge. The man moved forward unhindered, not taking his eyes of him and just like that ran right off the docks and into the water. Nothing resurfaced but bubbles.
is there milk on mars?
His first impulse had been, when the shit hit the fan, to run out and horde all the food he could. Thinking like a true survivalist he had raided the nearest abandoned grocery, returning to his apartment with a backpack full of mostly canned tuna. They still stood on his table, untouched.
The thing with an apocalypse is that there really aren't that many people left alive or around to squabble over the food or resources, and in a city that used to be a million or so souls strong - the amount of food available was ridiculous. Today was another day and he was not about to mess around and go on a tuna-diet - it was time to go shopping, or scavenging as it supposedly should be called according to most popular end-of-the-world fiction scenarios.
Dressed in his turquoise beach shorts, white tennis socks, yes the same socks as before, and red addidas kicks he left his apartment. Nothing adorning his upper body other than his 5.5 millimeter air-rifle and his empty gym bag.
He went down set of stairs after stairs, all 9 floors down to street-level - for the first time in his life he preferred the stairs and avoided elevators like the plague. Nothing wrong with elevators besides that he had had a nightmare where he got stuck in one and there were no elevator-repairmen left on earth. Which in his mind had added a whole new level of potential claustrophobia, seeing that there probably were no elevator-repair left in the real world.
Crossing the street he whistled a tune, he did miss streaming music - but he had forgotten his password to his account and there was no costumer service left alive. It was not for lack of trying, he had in exasperation tried to call costumer service in the hope that of the millions perished, that one costumer employee who had somehow against all odds, survived the end of the world and was so dedicated to his job that he sat there waiting for some desperate costumer to call in with a technical issue - alas not even the phone lines worked and so his attempt at salvation had been shot dead in the water. He had tried to sign up for a new account - but banks had been the first to pull the plug when things got bad and died with their digits still in their vaults. For him, this meant simply his credit-cards did not work and he could not sign up for any trials anywhere and was stuck with what he had, which music-streaming-wise was "nothing".
There it was! His utilization of his feet and leg muscles had paid off and he was at his destination. The neighborhood's mini deli, which was more like a miniature Wallmart squeezed into 5 aisles - small but trying to cover it all. #blessed.
He entered with the automated "WELCUME!" announcing his presence. He smiled and took a step forward - instantly he froze, and got his rifle trained down the first aisle - there 20 feet down the aisle stood Tom. Wielding a medieval spear posed over his head to strike, Tom looked deadly and a bit pathetic.
"You didn't take the last trail-mix by any chance did you?"
"Nope, I hate trail-mix.", Tom replied.
Letting out a sigh of relief he lowered the rifle a little. Tom customarily 'hated', and in this case his selection of edibles stuff to hate, ensured that the two of them got along sharing the same turf.
"I'm leaving now. I'll exit down aisle 3, I need some corn-flakes - you enter on any other aisle, just stay out of mine!"
"No problemo Tom.", he replied and they began moving down the respective aisle in opposite directions. They had met before, them two apparently being the only two around for miles, or at least the only two that needed to have their stomachs filled every few hours.
"Hey Tom." He said to the pasta section.
"What!?" Tom retorted from behind the pasta sauce section.
"How about we get a walkie-talkie each so we can stay in touch?", he ventured. He heard what must have been a pack of corn-flakes hitting the floor, followed an exaggerated sigh.
"No, fudge no fudgemucker." said Tom, apparently also stricken by the post-apocalypse issue of not being able to pronounce curse-words.
Yes, the end-of-the-world was a total fucking bitch.
"Just because we seem to be like the only-" he tried to continue in the hope that he could change the antagonistic disposition of Tom. Alas the familiar automated "WELCUME!" cut him off. Tom had left.
The world had ended and so had his chance of a buddy.
He found his shelf of trail-mix but milk was nowhere to be found, in his frustration at not being able to find anything other than almond-milk he shot up the store a little bit. He would have to continue his search for milk and a social life another day, after all procrastinating was a past-time of his.
He spent his walk home wondering if there was milk on Mars and what his day might have looked like had he not overslept on the Planetary Evacuation Day.
Freedom from flickering fiction
As he could not muster the will to leave his apartment to scavenge the block for any possibilities of milk or other dairy, he attempted to take his mind of the problem. He dug himself deeper into the couch and turned on the TV - a flat-screen he had gotten from his uncle on his 18th birthday - it had been cool for it's time, but he was 28 now and it was an old piece of shit. But nevertheless it was his piece of shit and he loved it dearly. Well, loved and loved - he was secretly convinced, that had his uncle not gotten him that TV and had he not had such amazing fiber-connection in his apartment and had not Netflix poured an endless torrent of content right into his lap day after day, week after week and year after year ... and had he not devoured season after season like a junkie doing drugs after winning the lotto - had all that not happened he was sure that he would have become a celebrity, a singer and an actor. He had realized the way it consumed his life, but he figured he had gone too far down the rabbit's hole to ever come out again and relished giving in to his plight.
So why are you invited to witness this particular Sunday afternoon in the aftermath of the end of it all? Because - here is the moment, the event that could only be likened to Django losing his chains in "Django Unchained" - remember? When Christoph Waltz appears in his dental wagon and gives what coming to Django's captors? This was that moment in his life, when an unforeseen event freed him from the chains that entertainment-on-demand had him in.
The screen turned on and he flicked through serie and movie titles in search for that one movie or serie episode that would be the perfect one, the exact right level of entertainment. After 30 min of being picky, he settled for a show he had already adequately and repeatedly binged. The winner was: "How I Met Your Mother" Season 9, Episode 14 "Slapsgiving 3: Slappointment in Slapmarra".
He smiled and happily forgot all about his pressing issues about milk and joined in the opening theme song.
A loud roar tore through the city dramatically shaking his windows - a second later the screen went black. He froze for a moment, the grin on his lips had not yet faded but it's spirit was gone. He scuttled to the window and searched the horizon. There it was! Black smoke reaching for the sky at the edge of the city - he knew the city well enough to know that was where the cities energy-plant lay, an old graffiti-hang-out of his. Gone was the plant and with it his entertainment source evidently. He stared dumbfounded at the view, glancing from time to time at the black screen and back to the smoke - connecting the dots in his mind. A laugh escaped him as he realized he would have no choice but start to LIVING his life! HE WAS FREE FROM HIS CHAINS! He could spend his time pursuing his dream of being a singer!!
Reality joined in uninvited and he consequently sighed in disappointment as he weighed in the fact that it was too late, the apocalypse had happened and there were no people left to sing to, literally. "Fudge-mucker!", he said attempting to curse. He wobbled back to his couch and out of habit stared at his refection on the black screen.
He really did wish he had some milk.
Milk meet floor, floor meet milk.
OUT OF MILK - THE STORY-BLOG
Come over here and waste your time with the story of one who survived the end of the world, only to find first-world problems were still problems. Join us on this quest for more milk.
"OUT OF MILK - THE BLOG-STORY" Copyright 2019 AMADREAS MEDIA.