Dilbo shrugged, a pained look on his face. "I wish I knew. I looked online but there's nothing about it anywhere."
"Unless you count autopsies and Egyptian mummies."
"Shit, Dil. This is messed up."
"You're telling me." Dilbo went into the kitchen and began opening cupboards, ignoring the cold pizza from last night's takeaway, still in its packing on the kitchen table. He pulled open the box of chocolate flavoured rice, took a mouthful and spat the rest into the sink. He did the same with the box of sugared corn flakes, a packet of crisps and slices of bread both plain and toasted.
Sam watched from the doorway. "What are you after?" he said, as Dilbo cracked open an egg and tipped it into his mouth.
"Dunno." Dilbo spat the mess into the sink. "I've got a craving."
"I dunno." He turned to Sam, his pupils pin-pricks within irises that had lost all their colour. "But I'll know it when I find it." He reached the fridge and peered inside. A jar of mayonnaise, butter, three-week old cheese, two week old bacon, slightly furry. He inhaled and made a decision, his meaty hand reaching for the bacon.
Sam turned up his nose. "You can't eat that," he said. "It's green, like spilt petrol. Bacon shouldn't look like that."
"I've got a craving," said Dilbo again, peeling a slice free of the rest and stuffing it in his mouth.
"Raw?" Sam turned away, unable to control the vomit spilling from his mouth and trying to minimise the mess by heaving into the fruit bowl. Unfortunately, the curve of the bowl was sufficient to send the contents of his stomach into a perfect gravitational wave over the opposite side of the bowl onto the wall. He lifted his head, streaks of vomit decorating his long, once-golden tresses.
Dilbo dug into the remaining bacon. "This is almost right," he said. "Almost. It's like I want something that's fresher. More bacony than bacon."
Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Such as?"