Hot Cereal

You race to your destination like a mad woman,

beeping at the car going 45 in the left lane only to seek watered down coffee

and stale doughnuts.

The icing on your vanilla frosted, cracked like the paint on your certified pre-owned Jeep that you didn’t think you’d need extended insurance for.

You should have gotten the Honda.

Taking a bite you wonder if you should have just had oatmeal at home

and saved the dollar.

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