It is 5am. The weary, bleary-eyed traveler stumbles into the convenience store in search of something she can call “breakfast.” As she wanders past the fully stocked hot dog machine, a question calls out in her sleep-deprived mind: “Why do they need a fully stocked hot dog machine at 5 o’clock in the morning?”

Before the question has fully cleared her thoughts, a scrawny, scraggly man whirlwinds into the store, muttering, “Man, I’m starved.” He heads straight for the hot dog machine. He does not hesitate when confronted with the rows of steamy dogs. This frankfurter will be his breakfast, and it will be enclosed in this squishy bun. It is his destiny.