We fall out of Rock City post-Jimmy Eat World gig, emo fringes matted to clammy foreheads and t-shirts covered in more pints than consumed.
Blind to the sticky scent of soured hops and barley, our beer bellies lead us to the Taco Bell on Angel Row to make a mandatory pit stop before catching the last train home.
We enter, cartoon-style, floating towards the counter at the beckon of a spicy spectral finger, guts howling out for Crunchwrap Supremes:
sub meat for refried beans
no nacho cheese
no sour cream
Time painfully passes, our order is finally called, we carry the tray back to our table, try to walk in a straight line.
The time has come, salivary glands aching with anticipation, desperately awaiting the soft passing of incisor through refried mush, we unwrap our Crunchwraps, smash our faces into them and
It’s bloody black beans.
Hearts sink as we recall with a disappointed lurch the last couple of disappointing late-night trips to Taco Bell.
We are forced to eat hunched over because gravity will not allow us to hold our food safely at a 90-degree angle.
Despite our efforts, the beans roll and bounce loosely in their tortilla sacks like microwave popcorn, somehow miss our mouths, scatter all over the table.
We exchange disgruntled glances and attempt to extract rogue beans from our hair like monkeys delousing each other
And quietly mourn all the times we took refried beans for granted, kicking ourselves for failing to fully appreciate their profound ability to hold things together.
Tyler Turner is a writer, student and rat mum based in Sheffield, UK. She is very vexed that Taco Bell no longer serves refried beans in their Crunchwrap Supremes. Find her on Twitter: @cartilagexfluid (fun account) and @TETurner96 (profesh account).