Bill's love of cheese was unbridled but his ability to digest it was null. Nature had neglected to provide his digestive system with the proper enzymes. He'd grown weary of the gas, the stomachaches, and the phlegm. More importantly,  his new girlfriend Tracy wouldn't tolerate his gastric volatility.  So there he sat alone at a cozy booth at Fran's diner. The greasy spoon was filled with all the stereotypical nineteen fifties furnishings. Glenda, his portly waitress, brought him his final foray into the land of dairy,  a grilled cheese sandwich. The two toasty grease shined slices of bread nestled a thick mass of melted aged cheddar. Bill felt a lump in his throat.

"Can I get you anything else, sugar?"
"A camera."