Now we are directly across from each other—
my face staring at his bald head
through the car window.
I just wanted to eat my Big Mac here,
I just wanted to take huge bites,
chew with my mouth open and
let the secret sauce slide
recklessly down my chin.
Can't I just enjoy one quiet moment to myself?
There he sits, interrupting my private thoughts.
why do they give you a fist full of catsups when
two packets would be enough?
And, I have always wondered what that extra piece of bread
is doing in the middle of a Big Mac.
Sometimes I remove that bread—
But not tonight.
No, this is my night.
My briefcase is a tray for the Big Mac carton,
The fries stay in the bag.
Shake the bag to cover the fries with salt—
take a sip of the fountain Coke,
heavy with carbonation.
What is he doing?
Who is he waiting for?
Is he a stalker?
He starts his car again.
He looks at me,
sees me frantically writing something down,
Hope he doesn't have a gun.
I bet he wonders what I'm writing.
Wouldn't he like to know?
I take the last bite.
Time to go.
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Copyright (c) 2000, 2004, David Erik Nelson, Fritz Swanson, Morgan Johnson