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Hemingway at the Taco Bell

(Title inspired by local writer/neat person Kiala Kazebee...but inspired how? That's going unanswered...)

Yuntz was eating. It was late. The eatery's light was enough to keep him awake enough to be able to eat. That and the booze earlier. He scraped some remnants of chalupa from his beard.

"All the shit of the world is going to be found to have some of this food in it," Yuntz said.

Sarah looked at him. "It's not shit at the start," she said.

"That is not what I meant," he said.

Sarah sipped on her Mountain Dew Baja Blast. The employees called out order numbers for the people who'd ordered later. Others up late walked past, their shadows leaning away from the restaurant. Some of them entered and got in line, to decide between chicken or steak. Wrappers crinkled.

Yuntz didn't belch. As manly as he was, that would be crossing the line. "We should be here when it's light out," he said. "See who else comes here. See the sky outside. Not be afraid to get a sunburn like we did in Spain."

"We can walk at night just as easily as we walk in the day," Sarah said.

"But we'd see more," Yuntz said.

"Perhaps."

They sat in silence. An employee walked past, mopping the floor.

"Why is there a Taco Bell in Paris, again?" Sarah said.

"Had to happen. I mean, eventually," Yuntz said. He crunched his taco. "Wait. The Soft Taco Supreme's not supposed to crunch."

"You're eating the wrapper," Sarah said.

"Oh. Didn't notice."

It got later.

THE END

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Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
slipjig
Oct. 2nd, 2011 10:50 pm (UTC)
That. Is brilliant. *applause*
chris_walsh
Oct. 10th, 2011 04:55 am (UTC)
*bows*
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )