At the bottom of a bag of crisps

After coming home wasted from the pub for the third night in a row, Robert Young thought that he saw the meaning of his life in the bottom of a half-eaten packet of crisps.
Through dribbling fits of coughing and raving he had dropped his packet of crinkle-cut cheese and onion at the foot of the couch.
Getting down with a wobble, onto his hands and knees, he was able to peer inside the value ‘snack pack’ of fatty fried potato sustenance before him.
The large plastic packet seemed to expand before him, opening up like some magical portal into a strange land of salt and grease.
The more he stared, the more he was aware of strange lights and images floating within and upon this vista.
He wanted so very much to crawl inside, to climb the mountains of crisps, and dig beneath the crinkly caverns. An Aurora Borealis seemed to flicker like a neon sign across the white ‘stay-fresh’ lining of the inner bag, and so he climbed head first into the remnants of these snacks, crunching as he went…
The next day, his flatmate, Lizzy Prescott, found Robert passed out in a large bag of Walkers.
She removed the bag and brought him round. His entire body was covered in salt and grease.
As he opened his eyes and smiled, he told her of a strange journey he’d just taken, into a great cave of crisps. The cave seemed to go on forever, but, just as he finally made it to the end of this vast lair, in the slag heaps of salt there lay the answer to his poor life.
She asked many times just what it was, what had he found there beneath those white crystals. He never answered.
He just hauled himself onto the grotty couch, cracked opened a warm can of beer and rummaged under the gas bills and magazines until he found a fresh pack of salt and vinegar crisps beneath the TV Guide.
He opened the packet with a smile and then began to beam when his hand came to rest on the television remote.
“This, is the life,” he said, and with that Lizzy slowly rose from the carpet and joined him.