A fictitious missing section of Fast Food Nation:
A visceral visit to...
“What can I get for you?”
“Just get me the highest quality burger you offer.”
“Do you want to double-si-“
“No!”
“It’s only si-“
“No!”
I paid the man with the grin that he turned off and on like a switch.
I waited for my order to be processed by the sly oily hands of hormone-laced teenagers. I should have berated them further about the “fast” adjective in “fast food,” because my finished order was neglected; left in the care of heat lamps. This resulted in the bread-substitute of the burger amassing the greasy sweat the burger expelled under the heat.
Not finding sustenance in the tomato’s faux freshness, I sought to replace them with another deluge of artificial flavoring. The ketchup bottle ejaculated onto the patty and the fluids mixed with the oily sweat, forming gelatinous clumps.
I took a sip of the oversized cup of high fructose corn syrup that intermingled with cola zest. I had no idea whether the taste reproduction was accurate, considering I never tried cola nuts, but was certain I had at least been in closer proximity to them, then the beverage that tried to masquerade their flavor.
I hadn’t ordered “Liberty” Fries, but it didn’t matter. I had lost any possible appetite.