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Post by micah on Sept 5, 2011 20:26:40 GMT 10
French fries.
A food born to be deep friend in large vats of cottonseed oil mixed with beef tallow, switched to pure vegetable and 'natural flavors,' French fries seemed to be the side order of the year every year since they were invented. Subtle beef flavor and enough salt to kill a man, the tiny cardboard containers offered to paying customers were filled with the delicacies as if they were high dollar foods. French fries, they were mass produced and mass consumed, the cause of so many heart attacks and the love handles of every slightly overweight person ever seen. They tasted good no matter what; plain, with ketchup, with ranch dressing, with barbecue sauce, and with the little packets of sweet and sour the franchise offered.
That was what Micah wanted: French fries. He wanted them badly enough to get off of his lazy ass and travel up to the only McDonalds in town and stand in the fucking long line. He wasn't sure what time it was, or how long he had until he was officially considered 'late.' He just wanted some damn fries! It would take two seconds to fill one of those little red containers in exchange for the change clinking together in the bottom of his pocket. Food. Food. Food. He'd been craving it all night.
He hadn't slept much and he could feel his stomach rumbling beneath the layers of clothing that hid his frame from the world. Fingers curled around the zippered edge of his jacket, the leather soft in his hands. He felt like he could break it right off of his back, split the lining right there just from frustration. This line was not moving and Micah had half a mind to jump in front of the person who was about to go next. Could these people not count? They'd taken how many years of math and still couldn't count the change in their damned pockets? Dark hair was blown out of his eyes in a fury, toes tapping impatiently.
He would spend most of his day hanging out in the back of his dad's office or sneaking out to lean against walls like he was some figure of important in the random spaces of the building that were there for no other reason than to let executives smoke in secret, Micah was sure. There was nothing to it. It was lame, and he was hungry and he didn't want to go to spend his day playing goody-goody for his daddy. He'd been invited out, if one could call it an invitation instead of a guilt trip and an 'obligation' to his old man, to the company where his dad worked because of some special event. His dad had tried to explain it but the only thing he'd wound up hearing was that his father's boss wanted to evaluate which of his employees could put on the facade of a family man long enough to move up in the ranks. Because publishers of children's books were supposed to be family oriented, he assumed, and this stupid event meant he'd have to play along or get a lecture later. Micah only agreed because there was a hundred dollars in it for him after a bribe from the old man. But he still didn't want to go and instead chose to waste time first. Eating seemed the most logical solution to his problem. Fries, after all, tasted better than most foods. So he stood in the line, kicking his feet at the floor below him and cursing what the rest of his day had in store. Any time spent with his dad was a horrible time and Micah would give anything for a reason to play hooky.
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