posting about desserts on Farcebook

There was a layover in Codsacky, where they had the peanut dome and the old opera house and all, poor man's version of Ted talks.  A big rig had went kaput in the center of the state road that busected the community, snd motirists were skirting the ditchbanks.  One F150 even had got astrode the ditch on one side, maybe cajoling at a driveway to get his wheels over.

At the little neighborhood grocery there was chili in one crockpot, chowder in another, and some dubious, but locally sourced peanuts on the boil.  What was dubious was the sit time of all that.  They had a microwave and a supply of prepacked frozen potatoes, the kind with the foiloid inner bottom for partially browning the things.

I had slept the obligatory ten and played solitaire a while, and had worked a sort of stupid, idle hunger.

What i set my eyes on was sitting under a glass cake plate, a globule of whipped cream topping that made us clueless about what was underneath, and lone cherry on top, and sat so stoically under glass that i thought i should say something sbout it on the Farcebook.