The calendar has become a cathedral. Its pages are no longer dates but stained‑glass windows, glowing with glyphs that shift and shimmer. Each pane depicts the same vision: slabs. Endless slabs, stacked high, dripping with gravy. I opened it this morning to find an entry titled simply “Slab.” The inbox joined in, sending me emails from addresses like stuffingoracle@breadmail.com. Each message contained only one word: “Collapse.”

The drizzle has become a flood. It no longer falls politely; it surges, pooling in gutters, streaming down walls, seeping into shoes and cupboards. Indoors, the damp has taken on a rhythm, dripping in sync with the calendar’s glyphs. I swear I heard the kettle whistle in harmony with the rain.

And then there’s the driveway. Today’s deposit was monumental: a slab. Not just a shape, but a full‑bodied omen, layered like strata, cranberry streaks running through it like veins. I stood there in the flood, staring at it, and the calendar pulsed again: “Slab.” The driveway has become apocalyptic. It knows the sandwiches before I do, and now it speaks in symbols of endings.

Today’s sandwich is Stuff & Story’s Mega Stuffing Slab.

Triple stuffing, gravy mayonnaise, cranberry sauce, bloomer bread.

The bloomer is soft and pale, its crust yielding under pressure. Inside, layers of stuffing are dense and herby, their sage and onion richness overwhelming. Gravy mayonnaise binds it all together, creamy and indulgent, a strange hybrid of comfort and excess. Cranberry sauce cuts through with sharp sweetness, sticky and bright, clinging to the stuffing and bread alike.

The first bite is overwhelming. The stuffing is heavy, the gravy mayo rich, the cranberry sharp. It’s not balanced; it’s not elegant. It’s a slab. A sandwich that leans into excess, a bite of pure festive collapse. Eating it while floodwater laps at the doorstep and the driveway delivers omens feels uncanny. The Mega Stuffing Slab doesn’t just distract from the chaos; it embodies it, a sandwich that tastes like inevitability.

Tomorrow, the driveway will speak again. The calendar will write new glyphs. The drizzle will surge in new rhythms. But for now, the stuffing slab offers a moment of clarity — a bite that feels like destiny, carved in dampness and prophecy.