I’m sitting inside a McDonald’s in Atlanta. A few moments ago a bunch of high school-aged kids were in a nearby booth. They were joking, laughing, playing music.
They left some buns on the floor.
A man walked by with a broom. He’s wearing all black, with his hood up. I’m sure, once upon a time, he too was a kid in a booth at a McDonald’s. We’ve all been there. Young and innocent and self-absorbed, goofing with friends as fries soar through the air. We never think we’ll be pushing the broom. We never even think about pushing a broom.
Then, one day, we look back. Lines crease our foreheads. Our backs ache. We have bills to pay and burdens to carry.
We regret the hamburger bun under the table.
