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The place is packed. I haven't even been here for five minutes and it's already getting to me. The ever-present plastic, the nonthreatening colors, the Ronald McDonald donation boxes, the deep-fry smell of friendliness. The line moves in front of me, but I stay still. I am hungry. But that hungry? I wonder, how does it feel to enter to enter a McDonald's for the first time? Is it interesting? Fun? I certainly can't remember.
I convinced Jordan to stop here almost right after leaving, only three blocks from the company. Three blocks of incessant whining and griping about my hunger and what lack of food could do to my system. The McDonald's was right there, waiting for us. Jordan stayed outside.
I went in, and in a split-second the world crashed around me.
At this instant, this very moment, I feel spent, exhausted. Somehow, someone has drained all the blood out of my body and I am walking around, blood-dry, a poor excuse for an automaton. The mystery, the excitement, the rush of the chase, the meeting with my boss, Eddie, his gun, the board meeting, the manifesto.
And Jordan.
Jordan, who is now waiting outside, tapping her right foot, burning cigarette in hand. Why, why is she here really? The idea that she's just playing with me, tauting me, has burned itself in my head.
I even wonder if I really want to know the answers to my questions, but I don't have much of a choice, or I have only one, rather. The end to all questions. Can it be that bad? With death, after all, ends uncertainty.
The line in front of me moves again. I stand still.
Hey buddy, are you moving or what? Someone says from behind.
I turn around, slowly, and there's this suit with flesh in it, this... yuppie. Hair slicked back. Perfect body, perfect skin. Tanned. I can even smell his perfume. He isn't even looking at me. His eyes are lost in the gigantic menu hanging above the counter, the place where all food is beautiful. He looks at me for a moment, sees me staring at him, and smiles.
Perfect teeth.
Then I notice the limo parked outside, lights flashing.
Jesus, I say, I thought you guys went extinct.
Excuse me? he says, his tone indignant but remote. I could swear that his response was a reflex reaction. He isn't even listening to me.
I have to know. I think of the most ridiculous, stupid thing to say at this moment.
I say, Did you know that urine is sterile? You can drink it.
I wait for a moment after speaking, then I laugh lightly.
The Suit laughs. Yeah, that's great he says, his eyes never leaving the plastic menu.
I look at him with more interest now. He is a person, isn't he? Mother, father, kindergarten, cartoons, first kiss, high school, booze, college and all. More money, maybe, but still... a few different choices here and there and boom, you're this Armani-clad creature that requires Evian water and weekly tanning sessions to survive. Is this what I could have become? And what have I become? Who am I? What am I?
Am I my context?
A McDonald's is definitely not the place to ask that question.
The Suit now looks at me with determined eyes. Are you moving or not? he says.
I say, no, go ahead, move along, and I wave my hand like a street cop trying to get the traffic to move next to a car crash.
I walk out. Jordan finishes her cigarette and throws it to the floor, crushing the butt with her foot.
She looks at me and says, What's wrong?
I say, Nothing.
I look at the limo, waiting obediently next to us, and I say, Let's go.
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9:12:07 PM 
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