Is it odd that I think of tomato soup every day? I open my cabinet and imagine rows and rows of cans of tomato soup. Every corner filled with cans of sweet tomato cream that resmeble memories from my child hood. That was when the can opener would cut perfect cirlces around the top of the can. Now it breaks halfway through, leaving the can unopenable. The sweet smell of tomato carreses my nose as I pour it into the pan and stir it gently. I grab the milk and pour it in. "Milk makes it creamier" my grandpa said to me "remember that for when you're older, Sammy".

I never forgot.