Jack looked up at the ceiling, counting the number of splotches of mold; 22, 4 more than the last time he counted. He couldn’t sleep, as was his ritual. He reached for his phone, flipped it open, and took a picture of the mold, before looking through the dozens of other pictures he had accumulated of his apartment at various stages of decay. It was long past rigor mortis and had bloated. Streams of light beamed through the apartment from the boarded-up window. His landlord told him the window would be fixed; that was 4 years ago. After an eternity of rest, Jack decided it was time to eat. Walking to the kitchen, Jack remembered that he had given the potatoes to the boys, thus removing his chance of having breakfast at home. So, he decided he had worked hard enough to earn a McDonald’s breakfast. He would order a McGriddle, it was his favorite. So, he grabbed his robe, threw it over his stained body, and stepped out of the apartment.
Outside his door was a young woman, her face gaunt, and eyes vacant, as she nodded out while leaning against the wall.
“Want somethin’, hon?” She asked.
“What, sex?” Replied Jack.
“Yeah, or a handie, or just talking, whatever.”
“Oh, well no thank you.”
Jack then brushed past the woman and made his way to the elevator. Before he could enter it, he was interrupted by the maintenance man.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you; damn things busted.” said the maintenance man.
“Not safe?” Asked Jack.
“Yup, damn things busted.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll take the stairs.” Said Jack.
“Best not.” Replied the maintenance man.
“Oh, not safe?”
“Yup, damn things are busted.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“It’s your funeral.”
Jack raised his thumb and headed to the stairs. Sure enough, they were gone, as if someone had stolen them. Jack climbed down the three flights of non-stairs that stood between him and escaping his apartment. Halfway down, it occurred to him he didn’t know how he would get back home, while simultaneously it occurred to him that he didn’t care. When he finally made it to the bottom floor, the nice lady who lives on the first floor was smoking a cigarette outside her door.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Good morning.”
Seeing the nice lady was the highlight of his day, the last kind soul left in the decayed world. Despite the joy she brought him in her meager kindness, Jack swiftly forgot her as he left the apartment building and walked towards his car.
Two people were under the car, stealing his catalytic converter. He guessed he’d have to walk to McDonalds. On his way there, he ran into the boys again.
“Thanks for them ‘tatoes.” Said the leader, “Got any money yet?”
Jack stared, perplexed, “If I didn’t have money yesterday why would I have money today?”
“It’s Friday—payday; so, pay.”
“Oh” Jack didn’t realize it was Friday, nor that he had a job. “I haven’t been to the bank yet to pick up cash. Gimme like an hour, okay?”
“Fair enough, one hour, then you’ll have our money?”
One of the other boys looked desperate, tapping the leader wildly.
“Jim, my sis don’t got an hour!”
“Frankie’s sis don’t got an hour.”
“Sorry.” Jack said, as he tried to brush past the boys.
“Can’t eat ‘sorry’; we need cash.”
Jack stared at them. “Will you take a check?”
The leader turned to Frankie. Frankie shrugged.
“Sure, we’ll take a check.”
Jack pulled out a dirty piece of paper. He didn’t have a checkbook but assumed the kids wouldn’t know what a check looked like.
“How much money do you want?”
“332!” Frankie interjected.
“Alright, here’s 332. Shouldn’t bounce, today’s payday.”
The leader grabbed the ‘check’ and scurried off.
Letting out a sigh, Jack continued on his way to McDonalds, his craving for the McGriddle growing with every passing moment.
After a considerable walk in an inconsiderable amount of time, Jack was welcomed by the golden arches into paradise.
The line to the counter was short, only a disheveled looking man in a stained bathrobe. As the man grabbed his receipt from the cashier, Jack felt excitement fill his heart for the first time in decades. Not since his last journey to McDonald’s did, he experience such splendor.
“What do you want?” Asked the cashier.
“I’ll take one large McGriddle meal.” Said Jack, barely able to contain his excitement.
“We stopped serving breakfast 3 hours ago. What do you want from the lunch menu.”
“Oh.” Jack said, as his heart fell into his chest, and he realized he’d have to settle for less. “I’ll take a large McDouble meal.”
“2.39.” Replied the cashier.
Jack put his card into the machine, heard a beep, and then put it back into the pocket of his tattered sweatpants. The cashier then passed him a cup for his drink, and the receipt. It was a medium sized cup. He then filled it with sprite, which just tasted like carbonated water, devoid of sprite flavor. If things kept getting worse, his day would surely be ruined. Looking down at his receipt, he took note of his number. He waited for a number of minutes, taking frequent sips of his gross sprite water. Eventually, he heard the cashier vocalize,
“Shithead?”
Jack looked up, “What was that?”
“353?” Repeated the cashier.
“That’s me.”
The cashier handed him a bag full of disappointment.
Removing the McDonalds from the bag, Jack saw that she had given him a small fry. Pushed over the edge, Jack began sobbing loudly. Before long, he tired himself out, and ate his meal. It was delicious, he had no reason to be sad, even if it wasn’t a McGriddle. He hated when he got sad for no good reason. He decided he would wake up extra early the next day to make sure he got his McGriddle. It had been payday, after all; surely, he had the money for it.