It was a long way to go for such terrible food. But he could do it. The walk, the brisk air, they would do him good. The grease would do him better. That's what propelled him, put one foot continuously in front of the other, the unwrapping of the paper and the small pool of liquid fat inside. Delicious. Delightful.
It had been raining, and now there was a fine mist. The kind that's refreshing, and light, and makes you close your eyes, makes everything glisten. And his eyes were closed when he passed two drunken underages on his way. "Are you a magician?" the girl asked.
"Yes." It was the only thing to say.
"Show us a trick!" The girl loved magicians.
"Can't, I don't have my bag with me."
She didn't take kindly to this news, and neither did her male counterpart. "Hey, Houdini, she wants to see a fucking trick." But he just kept walking, breathing deeply, clearing his head, knowing that he took bigger steps and he took them quicker than either of these children would. And when he heard a tumble, a scuffle, and the girl cry out someone's name, he didn't stop.
It was a long line to wait in for such terrible food. But perhaps it looked longer, more crowded than it actually was. Perhaps he would make a friend, get to talking, share some points about his night. Perhaps he'd find some common ground. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, although at this stage of the night he was happy to be thinking such clear thoughts. And perhaps he'd see someone he knew, although he didn't wish for that. To be alone in a place like this on a night like that, when everyone around him was coupled, at least, it was bad enough as it was.
There was a pretty red-haired girl just there over his left shoulder, standing by a window. She was with a group but it didn't look like she was with any one of them in particular. She seemed disinterested, she wasn't really there, she was only dragged by her friends. It was a relief to see someone like that. But how to approach her? To approach her at all? If he had seconds with him, his own group, then maybe. But now, like this, to address her in front of friends like that. No, it was not ideal. None of this was.
He got to the counter and enacted his usual plan. He ordered a large amount of food, and when asked if that was all, replied, "Yeah, that should be enough for us." That was the key, in case anyone was listening. An alibi, so he wasn't just some guy stumbling in for himself, he was a messenger.
Waiting in another long line, waiting to get his bag, he decided he would talk to the girl. Why not? Why not say something, try to pull her aside, to give her some sort of knowing look that said, I get it, I get you, we're the same. What's the harm in that. He felt good, nearly, and perhaps a little too excited, receiving a wide-eyed look from the nice lady handing him his spotty paper bag. No one is that excited for these contents. No one should be, that is.
But the girl was gone. Her group, gone. He was looking at nothing but a window. And on it was taped a sign, facing the street, backwards to him, reading "CAUTION." Now they tell me.
He walked outside. He clutched his bag. He was suddenly worried it would not be enough. He stood on the street corner, letting the mist coat him. The light turned green. He closed his eyes and walked. It wasn't that bad of a night. It would turn out to be all right. But the white pedestrian stripes had become slick with rain, and he slipped. And he braced his fall with his spotty bag, and felt it burst, and felt the contents flatten with the weight of his crash. He saw the food in the glow of the lamps and lights, resting there on the ground, destroyed, collecting mist, getting wet, glistening. And then, from the other side of the street, he heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, Houdini! Houdini! Show us a trick!"
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