5 Sentences

Each morning as she made her daughter’s school lunch, Samm drew an anarchy insignia in the bologna sandwich. The mustard nozzle was like a fine-point pen. She had no problem putting a perfect circle on the top slice, then the firm letter A with each straight line outgrowing its limits. By lunchtime, the bread would absorb her bitter little rebellion the same way distortion neutered so many punk anthems. Her daughter always swallowed the message fuzzy and indistinct.