The Theory Of Chocolate Eggcreams
is that they solve almost anything. The secret is in the chocolate. Vanilla is for wimps. The curing powers are not to be underrated. Provided you use U-bet syrup and fresh seltzer water, a day is instantly improved by an eggcream. The theory evolved from Ms. Jones. She prescribed them to me in 8th grade after a trip to the diner and discussion of wanting to hide and found all at once. Nothing can beat the optimistic effervesence bubbling over from a good eggcream. You could call it a passion, but it's really more of a theory.
My roommates brought me an Ashley's eggcream, chocolate. Hadn't seen them all day, I'd returned from the theater after their eyes closed and left for the theater before they'd woken. Nicw how knew perfectly how to cheer my paper and me up. Became an ecstatic evening. Overcome by adoration for here. This is favorite place, time. It's odd. With no sleep over, since, and till weekend, emotions are higher. They're in greater relief, higher and lower, without the relief of sleep. Some things flatten out when my pillow does not. My handwriting becomes a flat out scrawl. But my appreciation sharpens. Feelings are more jagged. Walking home through gorgeous gothics, bursting with so much happiness I could cry, then cry. But bubble not burst. Bursting, breaking into day. It's gray dawn now. Alive on chai and adrenaline. Bible paper written and ready to slip under the Sage's door. Yale is not exactly what I expected, but it's right, for me.
My roommates brought me an Ashley's eggcream, chocolate. Hadn't seen them all day, I'd returned from the theater after their eyes closed and left for the theater before they'd woken. Nicw how knew perfectly how to cheer my paper and me up. Became an ecstatic evening. Overcome by adoration for here. This is favorite place, time. It's odd. With no sleep over, since, and till weekend, emotions are higher. They're in greater relief, higher and lower, without the relief of sleep. Some things flatten out when my pillow does not. My handwriting becomes a flat out scrawl. But my appreciation sharpens. Feelings are more jagged. Walking home through gorgeous gothics, bursting with so much happiness I could cry, then cry. But bubble not burst. Bursting, breaking into day. It's gray dawn now. Alive on chai and adrenaline. Bible paper written and ready to slip under the Sage's door. Yale is not exactly what I expected, but it's right, for me.
