The sun rises in your back yard every day; you wrench it up from the depths each morning with your thoughts alone. Sitting on the back stoop, sipping on a cuppa joe- taking in the silent dawn. in the morning dew, A baby deer peeps between tall blades of grass in the manicured yard. Your life so carefully pieced together: meaningless. Deep inside you boils a volcano of pure necessity that can only be tamed by one thing.
Do you yearn for the soft touch of a pancake?
Wandering through the streets of love-struck Paris on an overcast day. The scene is set in stripes and cobble stones, and draped in misty, low hung clouds. Constantly traversing the streets- your soul is hungry, nay- starved for the sweet affection of a confection.
Do you crave crepes?
One in the morning, slouched pantsless on the couch. A fulfilling evening with friends has brought you no peace, you feel incomplete. The nameless emptiness knocks at your front door; it beckons through the stained-glass sidelights. In a drunken stupor you follow this ethereal spirit out past the safety of the home you built for yourself. The gravel crunches beneath you as the winter chill snaps at your heels like a loose dog. What lies down this darkened path?
Wandering into Waffle Hut, piss drunk at two am. Elbowed by a jury of your peers; you peer at the plastic menu. The smells tantalize the hairs in your nostrils. Waft it, savor it. This is the meaning of life.
Have you gone weak in the knees for waffles?
Well, have you?