Andy spent his break sipping Coca Cola. He watched the nude aluminum can on his windowsill, where whimsical green tin flowers sprout from inside, they hung over the rim. He smiled, remembering her words.
“Muriel said something like a can…”
In the distance, Andy observes his mother open a can of soup, a constant staple of his life. Creamy tomato red goo plopped from can to pot.
“… a can of Campbell’s Soup.”
Andy glanced back to the windowsill. All 32 varieties of Campbell’s are there, each loaded with dead presidents.
He massaged his heart, inspired, and gets to work.