The Damascus Burger
by Abigail E. Sims
Through limitless fog, on uncomfortable formulaic suburban streets, I saw a man.
I had gone out to find some chicken nuggets, and stood now confused outside the 7-11 in the dark, wishing I had not walked all this way to find that they didn’t have any. In my arms, I held the Doritos whose charms had seemed irresistible at the time.
It was too late for this.
In the middle of considering a dreadful compromise with a frozen taquito, I saw him.
A crumpled man in a pink windbreaker two sizes too large stood on the sidewalk opposite me. He clutched a folding chair under one arm, viscid plastic tucked into himself, and wore a beard that had long ago overwhelmed his face. That, or the beard wore him.
He shuffled along at a steady pace, hands crumpled around a greasy wrapper of something warm and fresh-grilled, that only his own wisdom could divine the nature or value thereof. I wondered.
As he crossed the street into a deserted park, he brushed the swing-set with an elbow—and a few day-old lettuce shards tumbled from supernal sesame buns. Just before he passed behind the old elementary school, he turned, and fixed me with a stern eye.
He stared at me. I stared at him. He raised his crumpled paper, white-crumpled and dripping with molten cheese. A wilted tomato disc leaked from one side, and inside, inside the heart of that fat-filled mecca lay a perfect beef patty, grease leaking from the lightly-charred edges.
My chips tumbled crisply to the ground from nerveless fingers, as understanding filled me. I was Saul on the road to ruin, or the Pythia at Delphi drinking in smoke until the fumes blew her brains sideways. Forget chips, forget nuggets, forget the sad bowl of cereal waiting for me at home.
I knew what I needed.
Far overhead, the In-N-Out sign blinked in the distance like the star of Bethlehem. The strange windbreaker man waved at me once more, burger held aloft, and then turned and vanished into the shadows, as strangely as he came.
I picked up my Doritos, and followed him.
Abigail is an emerging writer. She currently daylights as a content-wrangler for a technology company in the great city of Austin, Texas, and spends her free time playing with snails or swords, depending on the day. Her work has previously appeared at Beyond Words, Sand Hills, and Rusty Scythe. You can find links to all of the above (and more) on her website, abigailesims.com.