She cooked bacon, he brought bacon, they laughed over bacon, and the radio played a song about bacon. All they could think about was bacon. Morning sunlight warmed their bacon and coffee; from then on, all their breakfasts always included bacon. After she left, he made bacon for two out of habit, setting one plate down and speaking to the empty chair about bacon. One spring morning he unwrapped bacon on a park bench and finally felt whole again because of one thing: Because of bacon, he does not have to think about checksum.