How the bowl of deep orange could provide only a background stimulus despite dominating my vision is, in retrospect, a mystery. At the time, it seemed natural that my conscious mind focussed on the words around me, severe and defensive, while the consumption of this natural goo was a motor action, repetitive and thoughtless. I nevertheless gained pleasure while I swallowed. The half-liquid’s sweetness and cheapness conspired to delight me: by enjoying low cost foods, I was beating the system; although my mind did not articulate my glee with such acuteness. Words make such things more precise, yet less accurate.