Cold Out
Written By Leb Mofsky
Another workweek done, I take the bus
to McDonald’s. Ahead of me in line,
three deaf-mutes? They seem to silently fuss
about their order, gesturing in sign
language. The cashier has placed a menu
on the counter, with pictures to point at.
Finished, they pay. One man looks up, then two
head upstairs, while the third, a woman that
seems to be their leader, waits. She waves me
forward, as if I, too, need leading. Ten
minutes later, I am upstairs and we
are all eating, me at my table, and them
at theirs. On their tray, a pile of fries.
Warm at first, they quickly turn cold and dry.