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doubtful as he fished out one of those dry, cold nuggets and hesitantly put it in his mouth. It seemed as if he had
never had a Chicken McNuggets in his life.
Be that as it may, however, his reaction was both instantaneous and joyful. A beatific smile lit up his face, he
tilted his head just like Mark Wiens does and a very contented ‘aaah…’ escaped from his lips. He followed this up
with a very excited set of gesticulations to let me know he loved it, and then in a matter of seconds polished off the
remaining nuggets. Then with a big smile, he looked at me as if to ask, any more? I handed him the second packet
with the very same result.
I couldn’t believe that anyone could possibly like those pieces of very, very dead, cold and dry chicken and so I also
had a bite to confirm that no one had switched the chicken nuggets for something better. Nope, it was the very same
piece of completely flavourless, mystery meat that I had always known. But I was intrigued – how could a possibly
homeless guy and an imbiber of drugs not know about Chicken McNuggets?
Anyways, he gobbled up the second packet and so with a sigh, I offered him the remaining packet. It vanished in
a trice, and now my friend let out a deep sigh, closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree trunk with a very
contented air.
As Váfuðr ruminated about his latest gastronomical experience, I was left to reflect upon my situation; I had a
thesis proposal and a Unikum article to submit, I had to revise for a Norwegian mid-term exam AND I had work
over the next three days. I was lagging behind in the Norwegian class, had no idea what to write for the article
and I was already behind on the thesis proposal deadline. On top of all that, I was caught here in the middle of
this storm of the century. Panic rose within me as I thought of all the hours I had wasted and what would happen
on the morrow.
Presently, as I was thinking these gloomy thoughts, my companion stirred from his rest, opened his bundle and took
out an antique-looking earthen jar along with two cups, and filling up a cup, he offered it to me. I didn’t much
like the look of it, but he was insistent and I felt scared to refuse, so I drank and downed it all in one big gulp. It
was warm and sweet and honey-like, evidently alcoholic for it burned as it went down.
Dear reader, I do not know what was in that drink, but evidently it was just what I needed. As the drink burned its
way to my stomach, an incandescent white flash went off in my brain and a burst of energy ran through my veins.
Such a feeling of energy and power pulsated through my body that sitting still seemed almost unbearable. I felt
an almost uncontrollable urge to move, to run and to shout. I felt like I could do anything in the world, even fly.
Whatever it was I had just drunk, it had gone to my head.
I talked animatedly to my new friend, laughed loudly and boisterously thumped him on his back, chided him for
being a sissy when he refused to join me in a rain dance, and basically, made an ass of myself. I do not remember
much of what happened after that, except a few scenes here and there. I remember a flash of me hugging the tree
as if my life depended upon it and another of me lying in some bushes in the rain and insisting to Váfuðr that I
wanted to sleep out there ‘in the open’. I do not remember when and how the storm abated, or where Váfuðr went
or how I found my way back home. All I know is that I have been writing on this story since the moment I got back
home. It is now 3AM and I have many other pressing deadlines, I am tired and hungry but I am still writing like
a madman, for I have tasted the mead of poetry.
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