Everyday Yeah one-thousand three-hundred and seventy-eight

There was a stove. I put my beliefs in the stove. There was a tendency to let our heads be our only nourishment. It was the years of doubt and sourdough. Please poke a hole in my sourdough and fill it with yolk. Do you remember when you folded your newspaper slightly and coughed? You were on a train. Your stoic behavior made me a believer in the sound of sizzle and egg whites. I’ll never understand brown ovals. Please bleach my ovals and then crack them on a non-stick formula. If you are sitting alone in a chair, wait. Someone will bring you breakfast. If you have no friends talk to yourself while you pretend to be your own best friend. Make yourself breakfast. Ignore your own voice. Answer, “Yeah,” vaguely when you ask yourself a question. If you fall asleep in your own kitchen the linoleum will comfort you then you will have a friend. Be nice to your friend.