Hunger

You know what I feel like eating right now? An egg. Boiled to near-hardness, sliced up along the longer elliptical axis, salt and pepper sprinkled on for taste, two of these laid side by side on a slice of extra large bread, lightly toasted no butter. Another slice laid on top and the sandwich scrunched together leaving uneven humps on the surface of the bread slice on top. Bite into it, take a bit mouthful, your throat feels parched with this arid assault, but you don’t care the chunks of soft egg and hard bread roll together in your mouth and make their reluctant way down your pharynx. You chomp and chomp, feel an inevitable hiccup work its way past your diaphragm upwards and wash it all down with a glass of icy orange-apple tango, Tropicana only none other. The chilled stream gushes down dislodging the eggbread from your throat, big unbitten pieces crashing down soggily into your stomach, leaving you full and unsatisfied. Another two of those and I am ready to face the new day. Maybe crunch on an almost-burnt sausage for variety.
Gawd, I’m hungry now. Better get some breakfast.