The best sour gummi worms I've ever had are at the San Fransisco Airport.
I love you so fucking much, sour gummi worms from the SF Airport. At first glance, you were just a bag. Like all the rest, your outside promised so much. How was I to know? How was I to realize how precious our time was? But, alas, I did not open your glory pocket of artisinally crafted sour wonders until I was sealed away in a locked cabin, and I was all “noooooooooo.”
I remember the time I went back. I had thought of you often, did I dare trust the golden memory? In a cruel twist, you were just as good or better. But I was young. I couldn’t commit more than I had to give. I dropped my last ten bucks on as much of you as I could get my hands on and ravaged you savagely before the plane even landed.
Now I look for you. On every off-brand at the gas station, every fancy confectionary, I look for you, my sweets. But they are all worthless imitators, and turn to ash on my tongue. Though you’ve ruined me, I still often think of those perfect moments: high above the clouds, as my saliva rejoiced in the honor of being the first step of turning you into poop.