Bwog Staff is going to sleep tonight thinking only about their rebirth at the 114th Starbucks in the morning.

Every morning I am born new

I am the turkey bacon in the egg white and gouda womb,

cradled by the soft english muffin pelvis that holds me tightly. 

I rush forward, propelled by my juices that taste

distinctly like a creme brûlée latte. 

I am new. I am fresh. I am fed. 
I s c r e a m.

Starbucks via Bwog Archives