The Clack

Bagelsaurus, Cambridge, MA

May 7th, 2017

My Dear Wife,

I hope this letter finds you well. The sun is high at present, and although my tearful departure from home was some time ago, it seems that breakfast will most definitely have passed by the time I can return with your Eggspañola. I stand here amongst my brave brothers and sisters at an unfortunate standstill for what has seemed like hours after our arrival. The shop has already opened its doors, but our ranks already run dozens deep past the storefront. As you recall, I awoke shortly after sunrise to “beat the rush,” but it must already be near noon as the sun bears down on our infantry on this most unseasonably hot morning. There may well be some validity to this “global warming” we have been hearing so much about.

Spirits have been low among us, and as much as I myself am tempted, I take pity on the poor souls that find they need to resort to the Express Line, settling for the Grab Bag of pre-assorted bulk bagels. You of all people, Margaret, know that I believe that the freedom of choice is what sets this great nation apart from the rest, and I intend to fight for it no matter the cost. As I write this letter, I am reminded of your smile, gleaming brighter than the dawn of a Spring day glistening off of the dewy hillside out our kitchen window. One of my deepest regrets would be to disappoint you, but what pulls at my heartstrings most is to think of our children, little Anna and young William. It pains me to think they may be subjected to Pop-Tarts for the third time this week. It is my duty to provide our children prosperity and variety - things that my father could not afford for his own.

Please write soon. I can nearly see the sign for Bruegger’s around the bend, and already there have been hushed whispers of abandonment among us. I, however, remain strong and shall not settle for anything short of four dollars per bagel for the ones I hold dearest.

Your affectionate husband,

Joseph A. Bartlett