Been a while since I’ve posted. Sorry about that. Life got in the way. Changed the title of the blog, but I’m still ordinary and average.
I got to the counter and Wayne, the guy taking orders, said, “Hey Bro, what’ll it be?”
“I’ll take the chicken special I saw on the sign by the gas pumps.”
Wayne turned and shouted to the kitchen, “Brocephus! I need an eight-piece for my bro here.”
“Coming’ right up, Brofessor.”
When I got home, I opened the clamshell container and found eight Tyson chicken patties and a couple of Kraft singles, still in the wrapper. I dunno. Maybe I’ve watched too much Food Network, but, I had a totally different idea of what broasted chicken meant.
I keep coming up with the first in a series, but never continue the series.
I’m at work finishing a report when the Security radio channels announces, “That patron has found her Grandmother and they are now leaving through South.”
I don’t know why, —
That’s not true. It’s because Evil Patrick is constantly waiting in the shadows to pounce on something like this.
— but the image of a woman walking towards the South exit carrying a cremation urn bursts across my imagination. “I found her. She was on the smoking patio. Gramps was using her for an ashtray…”
Oh Grampa, you rascal you.
OK, maybe not that evil, but certainly dark. It kept me entertained.