/lit/ - Literature

When their supervisor, a stocky German woman, arrived, they were set to work. For the first couple of hours they worked together, silently, sweeping up the restaurants, scrubbing the kitchen floor. At eleven, she began cleaning the rooms on the first floor. These were nearly all booths being used by senior McDonald's officials and McMilitary personnel.

"My sweet Lord!" she exclaimed. "Real burgers. Best food I've seen since you dragged me awake into this godforsaken place. I'll have a double cheese-and-chickenburger with all of the trimmings. But go easy on the relish. Brings me out in a rash."

Her husband stuffed himself with charbroiled beef steak paties and Nike fried potato laces, topping the whole thing off with a foaming beaker of ice-cold Orange-flavored milk substitute. He grinned happily across at his wife. "This is a triple-gross food-out, bitch."

"Who knows? All we know about the past is only a small bite out of what it must've been like. Anyway, I feel hungry. It's burger time."

He grinned. "Most times I fished for food I wasn't that great at it."

The idea was so ridiculous that it used to break them both up. In the marriage bed it was very fundamental. You worked and you got to eat. Unless you happened to be a powerful Burger baron, in which case you persuaded others to work for you, so that you got to eat. That was all there was. Work equaled food. You got the food so
you stopped working until you needed to eat again.

He confessed to a local eBanker with hippie sympathies, let him think I had been underground since my McCollege activist days, and had him set me up a BiteCoin Wallet. It's amazing what a man can do with a BiteCoin Wallet—the lies he can tell to get him a real life in a small high-rise.