{"id":169894,"date":"2025-02-20T10:00:00","date_gmt":"2025-02-20T15:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=169894"},"modified":"2025-02-23T22:34:46","modified_gmt":"2025-02-24T03:34:46","slug":"i-once-bought-a-huge-wrap-in-a-walgreens-in-manhattan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2025\/02\/20\/i-once-bought-a-huge-wrap-in-a-walgreens-in-manhattan\/","title":{"rendered":"I Once Bought a Huge Wrap in a Walgreens in Manhattan"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"

The interior of a Walgreens in Orlando, Florida, via Wikimedia Commons<\/a>. Licensed under CC0 1.0<\/a>.<\/p><\/div>\n

I think buying a wrap in a pharmacy is incredible. I once bought a huge wrap in a Walgreens in Manhattan. It came with a sachet of extra mayonnaise tucked into the packaging even though it was already heavy with mayonnaise. I bought it and a thin can of Coke Zero and ate and drank while walking, like an actor. It\u2019s usually a kind of chicken prep inside the wraps I like but it\u2019s so unrecognizable to the mouth and the eye as to be moot, the name, the food question, and likewise the preparation who knows. A wrap is chopped foods folded up in a bib of parcooked very flatbread. Once folded, it looks like a handmade food tube with hospital corners at the ends to stop the food tumbling out when it\u2019s lifted vertical to eat. I eat it, or someone else eats it, and thinks of drastic things coolly. The best wraps are cave fish and peter forever outside time. That goes for a lot of what\u2019s happening when I\u2019m inside of a big pharmacy. I feel outside of time and outside of my life. I go into a big pharmacy when it\u2019s dark outside. I buy a wrap and a fizzy drink with my earbuds in listening to my music. My music lends the whole thing a cinematic thing. I\u2019m the crushed protagonist buying a corpse-like wrap and a thin can of Coke Zero on another planet the same as this one. I\u2019ll take my earbuds out to pay unless there\u2019s a self-checkout. A self-checkout\u2019s good for buying food at the pharmacy. The fantasy ennobles whatever and lifts what from the outside looks miserable but is not. When I have food in that\u2019s bad for me I\u2019ll bolt some of it then bin the rest and pour bleach over it in the bin so I can\u2019t fish it out later and eat it, then I\u2019ll smoke the first cigarette from a new pack then go to the sink and hold the rest of the pack under the cold tap on full or I\u2019ll have a first few pulls on a cigarette and pluck it from my mouth and flick it some irretrievable place. The expression on my face won\u2019t change; when there\u2019s no one around I needn\u2019t be convincing. This is very realistic; my feelings happen internally. I\u2019ll have half a glass from a bottle of wine then upend the rest of the bottle into the sink. I like making whatever bad thing irredeemable because I don\u2019t trust future me to be consistent with current me. I know I\u2019m inconsistent and this can be frightening. Self-love is an unobservable phenomenon that cavils forever. I should be punished but not killed outright. I bought a big bag of Doritos in Blackheath in the morning and started eating them in rough stacks outside the shop. I then sharpish turned and emptied the rest into a bin there and used the empty Dorito bag as a shiny mitt to force the Doritos deep into the bin, then. Everything else in the bin groaned and shifted downward. When I\u2019m alone I\u2019ll buy processed foods and unrefrigerated premixed alcoholic drinks. Once, my mouth was full of Dorito pulp and room-temperature vodka maracuja drink outside a sp\u00e4ti in Berlin in the summer, great. Cool Original Doritos have a remarkable savory flavor I can\u2019t place. The bag has a lot of blue and black on it, as well as dramatic photos of the Doritos. Blue and black are inedible executive colors. They mark the contents as exclusive and ambitious. I think it\u2019s Cool Ranch flavor in the U.S., a thick dressing. I like processing Doritos with my mouth. Saliva piddles moisten while molars pound to a paste. I compress the paste between my tongue and the roof of my mouth to make now Dorito-flavored and colored spit leach from it and get into me via ducts. The paste remainder forms a curved cast and this is a remarkable temporary food object. I cut the soft cast object into neat nothings with my teeth then and swallow it easily. I\u2019m just getting rid of shapes down a chute. The thing we all go to Doritos for is the intense flavor and astonishing color. Dorito flavor is staggering. It can be easily decoupled from the corn medium inside my mouth. The flavor and the color of Doritos cheers me up no end and the lurid smut on my fingers. I like eating all kinds of cheese puffs. They don\u2019t pique my loathsomeness much as they\u2019re just aerated packing material, a deniable foodstuff at the far end of edible. I eat cheese puffs with an urgency that from the outside looks like mechanical efficiency but isn\u2019t it\u2019s just noise in me, it\u2019s squirming almost nothing perhaps pleasure\u2019s dust there\u2019s nothing to it. The cheese flavor of cheese puffs varies within a small window only, whereas actual real cheeses have many different ones. When an ideal of course ghosts I toss the future after it. Silk Cuts are okay when they\u2019re customized: cover over the perforations with a torn-off glue strip from a cigarette paper or you can clamp two fingers over the perforations while you smoke to make it proper strength. I do something similar with my vape nowadays. I part-block a valve near the mouthpiece of the vape with my fingertip and in this way I can throttle the vapor. The vape mouthpiece is musical-feeling, like a child\u2019s first wind instrument. Stuff from my mouth and lips comes off on the mouthpiece and can gather in the breathing hole but I can always get a pin or a sharp pencil and gouge the stuff out and wipe it on a trouser leg. I keep the vape in one of my two trouser pockets. Sharp lint from my pocket can get in the breathing hole and shoot into my unsuspecting throat when I vape it. I like vaping all of the time. My vape provides me with my home planet\u2019s gas mix without which otherwise I\u2019d suffocate on Earth\u2019s mix. As with my voice my exhalation made visible by vape in it is an aspect of me that flees me to be with the world and never to return. I like that there\u2019s formaldehyde in vapes but I don\u2019t like popcorn lung. When the juice runs out I taste burning metal. When the juice leaks into your mouth sometimes oh, it\u2019s very obviously poison I\u2019m pulling in. I know about formaldehyde from alien fetuses and big decapitated heads in jars of it but I don\u2019t know about popcorn lung. It\u2019s a very evocative name and an ominously fun euphemism I won\u2019t look up the reality of. I secretly vape on planes, in cinemas, in concert halls; everywhere you can\u2019t vape you can actually very easily vape without discovery. I palm the vape like an inmate. I ensure the little glowing display’s hidden. I look straight at anyone nearby so if they try looking at me they\u2019ll be met by my gaze before they see that I\u2019m vaping so that they\u2019ll immediately look away. This sort of preemptive gaze is weird, it repulses other\u2019s sight; it relies on being there first, looking first, and on protocol. I pull on the vape and hold it in for as long as possible so that the vapor dissipates in me. By the time I breathe out there\u2019s no giveaway vape opaquing my breath. In circumstances where vaping\u2019s not really okay to do I take care to pull on it when I\u2019m quite sure it won\u2019t be my turn to talk or laugh for about twenty seconds, which is about how long the vape takes to entirely dissipate in me. During this time I smile and nod while I hold it in. I can do it. I presume it\u2019s fine to vape everywhere or I don\u2019t care if it is or it isn\u2019t. I have the gall to do it in someone else\u2019s house just in front of everyone midconversation without asking. If someone says something I feel terribly guilty. I feel for myself via remembered stilled machines still warm to the touch. I\u2019m shadowing myself through a history of my own impersonal sentimentality the pining for which electro-plates the meaningless with a rose zirconium-like. I sat alone on a low stool at a low table in a pub lounge and customized a Silk Cut. The table and the stool were genuinely small. There was an empty blue glass ashtray and a drained pint glass marbled with beer foam scum on the small table which was round and a brown metal spackled with little hammered divots. My hands are seen from an instructional isometric perspective and my concentrating face is in close-up which in this sequence bravely allows itself the ugly repose of the unobserved. I gave an unaffected performance with my jaw slackened. I bulged some. No visible musculature and no visible veining on my arms. What was I? I\u2019d a pad of green Rizla, a purple-and-white Silk Cut ten-pack and a black plastic lighter with a silver cuff. I got a cigarette paper and tore the glue strip off it. I licked the glue strip and wrapped it around one Silk Cut\u2019s midriff to dress the perforations that make it healthy, closed. Then I took up the lighter and ground the striking wheel slowly with my thumb, moving the lighter up and down just above the Silk Cut, milling invisible flint bits over it. Then I smoked the Silk Cut and the flint bits once caught spat glum sparks when the lit tip was on them. The sparkles and the blued smoke dawdling around my head made my head look like a monument to something on the night of its national holiday. This was when you could smoke inside pubs in the UK. When I run out of cigarettes I collect the squashed butts from the ashtray, split them open along the middle with my thumbnail-like minnows, and empty the stinky spent tobacco into a new cigarette paper to smoke. The catch when smoke goes haltingly past my epiglottis is abject but I could be wrong to use those words\u2014abject<\/em>, epiglottis<\/em>. The catch resumes disbelief and with it my body happens in my embrace by myself of it. I know it\u2019s a turnstile, I know it admits smoke or not, I know it\u2019s not the pink teardrop. People start smoking for different reasons. I started smoking when I was twelve I rolled Tony and his flunkies’ cigarettes at Sophie\u2019s party in a barn in Wootton and everyone drenched in Lynx or Impulse. I slipped away and walked home when the little brick of Golden Virginia ran out, purposeless. I often walked the many miles home through the countryside in the middle of the night as a teenager, blank I can\u2019t remember feeling anything. There was no one else anywhere. We\u2019d two welcome pedophiles in the village. Jim had no toes but I loved acting. The image of my future radicalizes and pillories my present. I abuse myself in ways. I like eating tinned hot dog sausages drooped onto sliced white, scribbled with ketchup. I like the iron-blood taste of tinned hot dog sausages and their cold makes them seem found, eaten speculatively. I like modeling balloons pumped with blood meal, it seems. Hot dog sausages are a more appetizing prospect than recognizable meats if you\u2019re like me. I eat ultra-processed meat products as a cannibal. The main ingredient in ultra-processed meats is the ultra-processing, the ultra-processing\u2019s culture and its technologies and histories rather than the beautiful pig in the past. Cannibalism is the correct way to be.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

From <\/em>Flower<\/a>, to be published by Fitzcarraldo Editions in April.<\/em><\/p>\n

Ed Atkins is a British artist based in Copenhagen who is best known for his computer-generated videos and animations. In recent years he has presented solo shows at Kunsthaus Bregenz, Martin-Gropius-Bau in Berlin, Castello di Rivoli in Turin, the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam and Serpentine Gallery in London, among others, with a survey show<\/a> at Tate Britain opening in spring 2025. He is the author of<\/em> A Primer for Cadavers and<\/em> Old Food.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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