Leave the last piece? What about me?!!
What happens to the last piece left behind? Have we considered its' feelings? We do now.
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I use to be a nice piece of artisan bread. You know, the kind you get before a fancy meal. I was a cut above the rest, freshly baked, unlike my cold stale brothers. The mere smell of me invoked wanton desire and even the best of atkins could not resists my soft center. Alas, here I am, a singular bite left behind, destine for the bottom of a cold dark hefty. Maybe a bird will find me…:-(