Morning Glory

I'm sitting back atop the investment banking shrine to money-making, and it feels... okay. So far, they've left me alone. So far, I've been able to eat my breakfast in peace. Oatmeal, raisins, and two tablespoons of brown sugar, that, when left for a few minutes, melts into a gorgeous caramel pool, sunken within the mound of meal. Raisins swim freely in my clandestine, Chocolate Factory, oasis in my cubicle, also known as a styrofoam bowl. At least the raisins are able to enjoy their hot, yet all too brief summer by the pool, unlike myself. For that, I take a bite. And another. And another. Until any liquid that was once heated recreation for age-d grapes is but a fond memory, cast into non-existence. Or in the raisins' case, disintegrated and re-formed in foulness.

Onto the yellow core of a boiled chicken embryo; my prisoner. It thought I didn't know it was hiding behind it's white mantle, but I knew. I know, you sly sphere. So I peel away the soft crust of its globe, after ample salt-seasoning, and without a lawyer nor a tribunal, I gulp down in tortuous pleasure, its only safety. I place the yellow remnance back into the plastic disposable from which it came, and watch it watch me. Naked. Unrealized. Doomed.

That is how I start my morning. That is how I transcend my day. Dare any soul contest the fate of the fearful? Not on my watch.

'Tis but a lonely leaf, quivering in the breeze, finding a new home on the dirt in autumnal solitude, crisp and dead. A leaf among a Universe of leaves and leaving this realm for another. Not mourned. Not missed. Simply, gone.

And it gives me yummy goodness and uppity energy, all the live-long day!