I decided to divide the pie into sixths, to eliminate any psychological barriers a more dyadic approach (eighths, fourths, halves) might have created. The pre-fab crust, I am ashamed to say, was not a success. It was unable to bear the sheer mass of the pie. Both spoon and fork were necessary in extracting the first slice out. But the first taste, ah. Soft and sweet and silky, like the hair of a lover brushing one's forehead in the morning. The natural warmth of the brown sugar and the creaminess of the butter combined into a greater whole. Even my coffee seems pallid in comparison. The pie is half gone now.