3

Like a fast-food junkie vulture circling in the sky eyeing a place to park next to the conveniently fast dying heat-stroked buffalo, the driver of a green Rover behind Ziggy seized his opportunity to jump the pecking order and take his place next to the man in the box.

His limbs tingled and his lethargy evaporated as he sat breathing heavily, eyes wide. That was good; he'd prefer that any day over a smack on the head no matter how well calculated. After gathering his thoughts, and a fresh supply of adrenaline, he saw the green Rover in his rear-view mirror and hunter-gatherer instincts immediately kicked and bashed their way in.

It was 8.17am.

He was now seventeen minutes late for a potentially life changing audition.

Not a being in this or any other universe would dare take away his Egg McMuffin breakfast and live to tell the tale. The jerk in the green Rover 75 was going to have to choose between backing up or getting his car mangled by a pink Golf Gti. And when it comes to playing the time honoured game of 'chicken,' the driver of the pink Golf Gti will always win; not because he's got balls for driving such a car in a game of chicken but because he won't give a fetid pair of dingoes' kidney's what happens to it since the opponent will always have the car actually worth keeping.

While panic ensues and ancient quarrels are re-enacted at this particular McDonalds, the chronicler wishes to eloquently draw attention away to the reader's untied shoe-laces (1.)

Ziggy laboriously wound the window down.

'Good morning!'

He gave the man in the box his best cold stare, 'McMuffin Meal, Coffee – black.'

'What drink would you like with that, sir?'

Ziggy persevered; he could almost but not quite comprehend the man in the box's complete non ability to think beyond his abode, 'Coffee. Black.'

'Would you like anything else, sir?'

All this malarky at an unstudently hour made him yearn for something slightly healthier, 'Can I have a banana split sundae?'

'Sorry... all out.'

'Banana McSundae?'

'Certainly, anything else?'

This at least brought a smile back on Ziggy's face – a manic smile but a smile none the less, 'No thank you.' He twitched.

'Is that to go?'

The smile vanished and his eyelids became heavy. He tried making sure that he was actually in the drive through and not parked inside in the restaurant in his car. Finding that he was still sane and all was right with the world he still couldn't make sense of the incredible stupidity exhibited by this man. This worried him and he looked over his shoulder and quickly turned back before he made eye contact with the Rover man again. That wasn't pleasant the first time round.

'To go, hopefully.'

'That'll be three ninety-nine.'

(1) If shoe laces are tied or non-existent then reading this footnote will do.