Pancakes and Existentialism
We ask Waffle House to save us. It does. We say our thanks, carry
sinful shoulders to your sedan. We can’t keep living this way. So wet.
You’re right, but let’s have this one for us, for now. In the morning
we can go to the barn and hang with the baby chicks.
It’ll feel nice to hold a universe of chicken in our hands, to know
how little space consciousness needs. You think too much of us.
No, I never said that we were doing well. Though, I’m damn sure we can try,
and I’ll take that tonight. Tell me about your dream. The one on Mars.
We had little Martian babies even though Uncle Elton warned us
against that. And we didn’t have Waffle House. God, how did we get by?
We made it work, you know. The way we do.
