I took the first exit I saw.
Mother Nature was calling my unsuspecting name in three languages.
Two hours ago I hit a hamburger joint and now I’ve got to beat Jesse Owens to the bathroom and give birth to a weapon of ass destruction. This is not a mega news flash, but fast food restrooms are dirtier than Spanish soap operas and I feared foreign viruses could bio-jack my prostate.
I washed my hands six times.
And ran the fuck out of that frozen factory of fraudulent freaks. These cheap food franchises are often magnets for morons. If it were cost effective, I’d accuse them of serving kangaroo carcass with a cola and a smile. Yet, smearing empty calorie SOB’s is redundant. Sort of like committing suicide in North Korea.
I made the sign of the cross twelve times.
And I started seeking healthier fiber and humbler faith in my chaotic life.
Figured if I didn’t start to use my intelligence I’d be using their insulin. Another product no doubt owned by the same corporate clowns punching out pills and patties on different floors of a major manufacturing plant far from the eyes of the innocent and obese.
Mark Antony Rossi‘s poetry, criticism, fiction and photography have appeared in The Antigonish Review, Another Chicago Review, Bareback Magazine, Black Heart Review, Collages & Bricolages, Death Throes, Ethical Spectacle, Gravel, Flash Fiction, Japanophile, On The Rusk, Purple Patch, Scrivener Creative Review, Sentiment Literary Journal, The Sacrificial ,Wild Quarterly and Yellow Chair Review.