In November I checked the Marina Foods snack aisle and the haw flakes I loved weren't there anymore. Spies from the International Food Committee didn't approve: the flakes contained Ponceau 4R, a carcinogenic red azo dye that infected gums and coated lungs with dust. They shoved their way through the incandescent gummy aisle, crushing all the paper rolls of Chinese hawthorne–my favorite snack, vanquished before my eyes. Outside the awning that Saturday morning, rain battered the corrugated rooftops. I mourned against the shopping cart as my mother weighed packages of yellowtail eels, sniffing grapefruits and Japanese eggplant. I weaseled into the cart jars of oiled bamboo, dumplings, strawberry Pocky, but nothing compared to the snack I missed the most. Home alone I picked at microwave catfish, opened cans of fried dace. In the bathroom I smelled my mother's lotions, eye crèmes. I found Attila the Hun passed out in our tiny tea-stained bathtub. Pallor drained from his face into the soapy lavender water. He woke instantly and peered at me, lifting his balled fist. He opened it to reveal a crushed roll of haw flakes. I sneezed seven times, and on the seventh inhale, Attila vanished. What remained were the particles sifting through my cuticles, extinguishing when I tried to taste.