Orange crush

DIdja eat? Good. Food in your stomach will keep the pills from making you feel sick. Mickie D's is the best in the morning. Roll right up to the chick standing outside smiling to take your order. How much do they pay her for that smile? Doesn't matter. Pills. Food. Eat. Drink. Slam them. Suck them. Swallow them. Blue, cream white, vibrant colors. They roll around your hand. It shakes a little. Steady. One car length from the sausage, egg and cheese biscuit from heaven. OJ to wash it down and cut the grease in your mouth.

$4.60? Here's $5.10. Gimme my quarters. Click, Click. They still make belt changers? She's standing outside too, but no quick smile to make you feel like you are doing OK. She doesn't get the same, "Have a great day." in a wavering voice you gave the first one. You tried for bright and cheery with the first one. She made you feel human. The second? Well, Fuck her. She can't smile? She can sit in the heat all day for all you care.

Bag, bag, bag. Gimme the effin' bag already. And my juice. The big, tall skinny one. 20 ounces of Florida squeezed perfection. You can smell the tearing of the zest as the orange peel came off. The miniscule citrus spray biting and perfect in your nostrils. Eat. Scratch that, gobble on your biscuit sandwich. The grease on the wrapper coating your face where it touches when you bite. Cheese sticking momentarily on your teeth. Chew. Chew. Chew. Drive. Turn wheel. Harder. There. Stay in your lane. Chew some more. Nice hot egg. Hmmm... needs a little salt and peppa. Glance furtively around. You know you can't lick the wrapper, someone will see. They'll know.

Swallow the pills. Watching the rearview mirror the whole time. Heart pumping. You can see your pulse banging at your wrist. Thud, thud. Again and again.

Relaxed. Moving down the road. You've got time. All the time you have left. Did you see my orange crush?