It seemed like a good idea: squirrel away enough food and water to survive a looming apocalypse. But the freeze-dried meatloaf tastes like dog food. (Well, at least as one imagines.) It’s true, water won’t rust your “pipes,” yet it’s so bland! Soon you develop an irresistible craving for a strawberry daiquiri. Staying underground in a makeshift bunker for days at a time is no cakewalk either. Without sunshine and darkness, every day is the same. Hour seventy-three: my older brother escapes, walking back from the house with a bag of Cheetos. “Come on, guys. It was a midterm election.”
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