flakey flakes

A grid of static on a cardboard horizon. We inhabit the space between the expiration date and the barcode, where the logo loses its memory and becomes pure weight. Swaney Snacks listens to the low hum of aluminum foil, tracking artificial flavors drifting into the subconscious. The wrapper outlives the hunger. Ink bleeds, corners fray, and the everyday object floats in its own vibrating vacuum.