Getting in early
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I roll up to base, earlier than I usually do. I think, “today might be the day”, and I stop at the shopette, and I hop out, a little too eagerly. I walk into the store and pivot, almost as crisply as one would fresh out of basic, and power walk to the tornado stand.
I allow myself to scan it as I approach, and I see the logo for the French toast rollers. Hope begins to rise. I let my eyes climb slowly and see the first set empty. Hope breaks, but is not gone. As I scan right, I see it.
It sits alone, rotating like a new car on a showroom floor.
The last. French toast. tornado.
I grab it, with the litte fuckin Tongs and slowly, sensually almost, slip it into the paper diaper bag thing. I buy some other second one, it doesn’t even matter what flavor, it PALES in comparison to the French toast tornado.
I pay and rush to my car. I eat the second one first so that I may, by comparison, enjoy the French toast even more. I take my final bite of the other one.
It’s time.
God stops what he’s doing to look down and smile.
The war in Ukraine has an odd lull in fighting.
I grab it, and the first bite ascends me to another plane of existence. I write this from another world.
The meal completes. Maybe a few minutes have passed since purchase, but I have lived a lifetime.
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