Today Pinky had a hard time waking up. In his half-sleeping state he imagined he was a pancake. No bones--just soft, hot, and flat. He imagined he was the batter spreading out into the sizzling pan. He felt good and wholesome on the plate until other pancakes were put on top of him. He tried to feel like he was the entire stack of cakes, but that didn't fly. He was definitely the bottom pancake on the pile choking under the weight of the others--sticky from the butter put between him and the pancake above. Pinky realized his lifelong conception that pancakes must like to be together was flawed.