I was looking around inside a 7-11 store today while Jackson was negotiating with the Coke nozzle on the Slurpee machine. (Are banana Slurpees new? I was disgusted at first, but then a wave of sense memory overcame me, and all my childhood summers of eating banana-flavored popsicles flooded my mouth, and icy fake-banana flavor sounds magnificent right now.) Jackson was struggling with getting the lid on his cup, and two older boys were waiting for him to get it together and get out of the way, and my first instinct was to help but then I thought I’d probably just embarrass him. So I wandered over to the refrigerator section with pre-made burritos, bologna, hotdogs, and ham, and I started thinking, “Those hotdogs definitely cause cancer and bologna makes me want to die, but I’d eat the ham. I wonder if I could live off of whatever I found in 7-11 for a month?” Thinking that, of course, tons of people make do with food from small markets, either by choice or because they don’t have a larger grocery store nearby. Our 7-11 has apples and bananas, small bags of flour and sugar, charcoal, a few cleaning supplies, 500 kinds of chewing gum, 20 kinds of lottery tickets, milk, butter, and beer, but no eggs. So if I were to shop at 7-11 and try to continue doing the Paleo thing, I’d be eating mostly packaged ham, apples, and water. I like to think I could make do anywhere, but I’m sure I’d be all, “One little bag of Doritos won’t hurt,” and that would lead to “One little six pack won’t hurt,” and it wouldn’t be long before I’d be practicing yoga in the nacho cheese dip aisle and living on Ben & Jerry’s. Now I’m actually barricaded inside a 7-11, indefinitely. I have a cot in the back room and I’m armed to the teeth. I’ve constructed a catapult out of cannibalized metal shelving and I’m mounting an after-hours attack on the Chevron station across the street. I’ve never liked the way they’re always .5 cents a gallon higher than the 76 station next to the freeway, where you can also get a free car wash. Yes, I’ll join forces with the inmates of Taquería Rincon Alteño and the laundromat, and soon we’ll control this whole exit. No one will use our restrooms except people who buy something first!