The Sunny Side Up

Meet Sunny — the fry cook’s spirit animal, born in a busted nonstick at 4AM, sweat dripping, order chits screaming.
Sunny’s no delicate brunch darling. He sizzled through Saturday service, dodged burnt bacon grease, then hit the alley running — shades on, fists up.
Part yolk, part street hustler, all attitude. He’s out here proving breakfast bites back. If you see him coming, you’re already too late.

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Pull it on for the walk-in. Peel it off by the glass. Heavy enough to whisper: you outlasted the chaos.
Cotton pure — unless it’s grey, then it’s a mongrel, loyal as hell.
Built thick to choke fryer smoke and drown regret.
Seams that don’t flinch. Fit that forgives but never slouches.
Cut and sewn by calloused hands. Worn by the ones who never clock out.


For the walk-in chill or a whiskey wind-down — heavy enough to say you made it.
100% cotton (grey’s a mutt, but faithful).
Thick to beat fryer smoke and regret.
Tough seams. Honest fit.
Made by workers. Worn by lifers.