No crumb should apologize for what it is.

I found the bright orange nugget near the edge of a parking lot, resting alone on the concrete. A faint trail of amber dust surrounded it, reaching farther than the meal itself.

It rocked gently in the breeze. Dry at first. Then salt. Heat. It tasted the way hot pavement feels. Good until it was too much. I pulled away, then found myself coming back.

Long after I had finished, it refused to fade.

We often praise restraint as though it were the highest virtue. But conviction has a flavor of its own.

By the time I took flight, I was carrying more with me than I had taken.

Verdict: Make the crawl