A bag of money drops out of the sky, literally, into the path of a cash-starved citizen named Graveyard. He carries it home to his wife, Ambience, and they embark on the adventure of their lives, finally able to have everything they've always deserved: cars, guns, games, jewels, clothes-and of course sex, travel, and time with friends and family. There is no limit except their imagination and the hours in the day, and even those seem to be subject to their control.
Of course, the owner of the bag is searching for it, and will do whatever is necessary to get it back. And of course, these new riches change everything-and nothing at all.
Stephen Wright has woven out of the language, images, and stories of our wealth-obsessed culture a novel of once-in-a-generation vitality and inventiveness. Darkly hilarious, Processed Cheese is both satire and serious as death. It's a road novel, a family story, and a last-girl-standing thriller. With the clarity of a Swift or a Melville, Wright has created a funhouse-mirror drama that puts all the chips on the table, every bullet in the clip, down to the last breathtaking moment.