Richard L.
Yelp
It's 5 o' clock in the morning.
T-Payne is not in this McDonalds. Nor is Lily Allen, though I'm sure she would be(skank).
Freesus, J.B. and I are standing in line to buy 6 big macs and 4 orders of chicken tenders.
I am honestly trying very, very hard to remember what led up to this moment, and I am failing quite miserably. Was it that night I got a bloody nose dancing at U street? pouring blood all over my shirt? Was it the night that we told some girl we wanted to "smang it" with them?
I don't know. The clipped and parsed lanes of memory do not permit too far a journey into the dark. The black wall looms and behind it our memories glaze over in the midnight frost of a pale blue moon. It is a pity, perhaps. Maybe it's a blessing that our private shames stay private, even to ourselves.
Yet this McDonalds stands firm, a colossus at the gates. Damn your shame! Damn your lost nights, and the gentle touch of a turning hour hand! You were glorious tonight! Revel in that fucking glory, reward yourself with questionably delicious food!
Later, sitting in the living room, Freesus grabs my second big mac and just looks at me, mean mugging me as he eats it as if to say "yes, I know this is yours and I am drunk but I don't care, and I wouldn't care sober. I don't care, because I am Freesus" and damn the man if he isn't absolutely correct on all counts.
I would never give a McDonalds more than 2 stars, but this McDonalds is a beacon in our collective psyche, the pure gold marker of memory perhaps best forgotten, but gilded in remembrance. 4 stars it is.