Scent of Grease

Golden arches glowed bright against the dark street. You said burgers, so I stalked toward the smell of sizzling fat. A low brick flowerbed ran right along the drive-thru ordering speaker. Clack, sizzle, squawk! Voices buzzed through the intercom box. Under a bench, I found a discarded brown paper bag tossed on the pavement. I lunged forward, yellow fingers tearing the top open. Inside sat a crumpled grease-stained wrapper and a single stiff, salty french fry. I mashed the fry between my teeth—crunchy, greasy grit! My long arms smoothed the wax paper flat against the asphalt to catch every last speck of salt.