KP Crisps

No matter how many people we meet or how many stories we hear, we are never prepared for the person next to you in the queue. Never wise to the acts or actions of the person next door. Never protected by our senses from strangers in the street.
We can never expect the twitching of the lifeless, never knowing the rules to which everyone else might work to. Never knowing the rules that the agenda-less do not work to. We can never be wise enough or experienced enough to know what is tumbling around the head of old friends or new fiends. Never trained enough to grasp the complicated connections of electricity surging through another person’s brain.
We can never know whether the insides reflect the outsides. We cannot see into a packet of crisps without splitting the packaging open. We can only take a guess at the internal state by carefully analysing the exterior, but even then it could just be a load of gas.
We can never know how much of the contents are broken if any at all. We can never know who has handled the packet or how it was handled throughout it’s life. Only on opening do we understand the journey the bag has taken.
Only then do we find out whether it’s KP crisps or just plain nuts.

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