Burgers

The sizzle of the moldy pink meat on the greasy hot stove pierces into my brain. I wipe the sweat speckled on my forehead as the pungent odor of fries and burgers waft into my nose. My mind wanders off, but my arm keeps on flipping the burgers in the same robotic movement. Everyday, I wake up to the screeching of my alarm, and head to work. I despise this job, I don’t know why I keep going here. 

The chime of the bell permeates throughout the building, my mind snaps back to reality, and I keep flipping. Then, out of nowhere, a behemoth of a creature confronts the entryway. His lard filled belly squeezes against the sides of the door, but it won’t give. Finally, he surges through the doorway while almost collapsing on his meaty legs. Every breath he takes looks like a struggle. Every step he takes looks as if he is about to crumple to the ground. And every time he talks, his chin starts bouncing like pieces of jello. His sweaty hand grasps the crinkled McDonalds bag, and he heaves himself to a booth. He tears open the bag with his stubby fingers, unwraps the cheap wrapping, and stuffs his face with as much food as possible. A mixture of saliva and “special” sauce leaks down his plump cheeks. Just thinking about him makes me want to spew out my breakfast. I see more of these people now, they are regulars, day in, and day out.

~ Hahn-Sol K.