a boy falling from the sky

Surrounded by burly, sweated, seldom-feted thugs of obesity, I queue for burgers. The football has just finished and fights break out even though they're all on the same side. Drunks jostle for position, scrambling for offcuts of processed meats, bellowing obscenities at each other, snorting and scraping the ground, all for the no-show of suitable suitors. Overweight and overwaited plump, pink men, dropouts from the university of life, clown and cackle at each other, cocksure they're the life and soul of the party, but if they sent out invites, I certainly failed to rsvp. I get to the front, and whisper my requests to my counter self, he leans in to hear me, and just for a moment, in that fleeting intimacy, it is like dealing with humanity. I'm short of change by five pence so I'm forced to pull a note from an ever depleting stack. Ever since I've stopped carrying five pence pieces, I've been consistently short. Of change I mean. The lettuce in my burger looks like it's from the afterlife, the tomatos are warding off all evil, and the whole thing tastes satisfyingly bland. But this late in the day, maybe taste would overwhelm me; my life is made up of useless gestures and this is just one more.