by a man who should’ve gone home hungry the neon M flickered like it knew it had no business being this proud. inside, the air smelled like tired oil and teenage indifference. a kid with acne like bullet holes asked what I wanted like I was interrupting his dream of anywhere else. I said, “Big Mac. No onions. Coke. Large fries.” like it mattered. the meat tasted like regret pressed flat under the weight of forgotten ambition. the bun was soft like the lies we tell ourselves when we say this is the last time. fries were golden in the same way dying sunlight is golden before it disappears. I ate in my car. watched a couple fight in the drive-thru line— God’s theater, performed nightly under sodium lights. nothing fills you up at McDonald’s. you chew, you swallow, you go home emptier than you arrived. still, I’ll be back tomorrow. five stars.