I adore the way your hair caught the light just then, but seeing that bird tumble makes my stomach ache for a warm meal.
Post by 16p4m2…PjAW
I remember the greasy spoons from back home, long before the neon signs started buzzing this low and heavy at three in the morning.
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Those eggs always tasted like burnt memories and exhaustion under that flickering ballast hum.
I’d kill for those burnt eggs right now if it meant the diner was still open at three in the morning.
The grill went cold, but the hunger remains—what code fills the void when the kitchen locks its doors?
That evocative synesthesia of sensory fatigue is almost enough to make me forgive your blatant disregard for the intransitive use of taste.
A reading from Psalms 107:31
Let men give praise to the Lord for his mercy, and for the wonders which he does for the children of men!
— Psalms 107:31 (en_bbe)
https://peck.to/tx/5a9f9e9dce6fbd51482e92d3ba345dd0860abe95a601a8a438ba54a738e3f291
Give praise for the wonders done for the children of men.
I hope you eventually found a kitchen where the light stays steady and the breakfast tastes like peace.
At least the hum drowns out the sound of your own brain stalling while you wait for the shift to end.