Fast Food

‘Welcome to Happy Burger, may I take your order?’

He imagined smashing her face into the register until they were no longer seperate objects. He said ‘A burger and whatever.’

Around him dull eyed farm animals waited for their turn at the trough, clicking frantically at their phones in a desperate attempt to stave off even a moment’s introspection.

‘Which burger?’ Her smile was a plastic testament to modern civilisation.

‘It doesn’t matter. Just… Food.’

If he locked the doors and burned this place to the ground, what would it change? These people were only treading water until they died anyway. What did their lives offer the future?

‘Can I recommend our Happy Cheesy Fun Yum? Or perhaps our Big Boy Snack Attack?’

‘I’m not saying either of those things. Just give me some dead cow.’

He’d be doing them a favour. Saving them from a thousand nights watching strangers follow their dreams and fail for the entertainment of those who’d given up. A million hours at a desk doing busywork because someone somewhere had decided everybody had to spend eight hours a day, five days a week making someone else rich or their lives didn’t count. A billion moments so tedious they were forgotten.

Her facade was beginning to crack. She was much more attractive showing real emotion, even if it was light hatred burning through the lense of forced politeness. ‘Would you like to coronate your meal to king size for only two dollars?’

He put down a twenty dollar note. ‘It doesn’t matter, nothing matters, just give me some of your disgusting food.’

She hit some buttons on her register (they had pictures instead of words, so nobody had to read anything,) took his money and began serving the next vacant face. A sea of rich, unique inner lives which all culminated here, saying the same thing.

A man in a suit approached, it didn’t matter which one. ‘The car’s waiting outside, Mr. Prime Minister.’

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