He scrapes yoghurt onto his tongue with the spoon. Not so much licking it as pasting it like mortar, with the handle pointing downward and the concave cup being dragged against the tip of his taster. The strawberry gunk concertinas onto itself and drops limply into his mouth. He curls it up to the roof of his eating hole and then turns his attention downward once again. He digs down and scours the side of the pot to get every last gloopy drop, and does it again, then plunges the spoon back into the empty pot and sets it down onto the bench. It falls over immediately.

“I just think… maybe you should eat less yoghurt.” You shuffle slightly in your seat, and cross and uncross your legs. He reaches into his napsack and pulls out another. You wonder how many are left.