the memory of milk

this is the door to the fridge in the doctors mess.

each of the bottles has about 30mL of milk left in the bottom. there are about 15 full unopened bottles in the fridge itself.

people do not finish the bottles. some unspoken fear of drinking the milk at bottom of the bottles prevents them from doing so. they replace the bottles in the door and open a new one, which, in time, also joins the graveyard of nearly finished bottles. the milk remnants are perfectly drinkable and at the correct temperature (cold).

no one speaks of this. lips remain tightly shut, heads turn away. it is the way it has always been and it is the way it shall always be.

what has happened here? who is controlling this?

it puzzles and concerns me. we are NOT who we appear to be.

i glance around furtively in fear that i may at any moment be hoisted into a massive NHS wicker man.

[i am listening to Eleanor Put Your Boots On by Franz Ferdinand]