Wendy's - Slover

There some things you just can't do if you live on a farm or in a cave or underwater. One of them is go to Wendy's at two in the morning. That's a privilege, if you can call it a privilege, only accorded to us smallish town to big city dwellers. So there's a dark side to urban life, or at least a double-edged sword. When you're driving around late at night and the hunger pains come over you, you don't have a lot of options. Unless you want to go home and fire up the kitchen, which you don't, it's not like you can just pop into Whole Foods and get a loaf of spelt bread. So you opt for the jr. bacon cheeseburger instead. And, boy, does it taste right around one-thirty or two. You sit in your car munching, not worrying about what strange things you may or may not be shoving down into your stomach, and admire how the smallish town to big city operates at night. You may notice that all the neons are still blazing angrily garishly away, blocking out the stars. It's then you might get jealous of the corn-fed (although we're all pretty eating nothing but corn these days, but you know what I mean) kids in the Midwest, milking cows, plowing, chopping, keeping the American machine moving. You can have thoughts like that at night, where your mind jumps from one thing to another, not worrying about logical connection, eating your cheeseburger. And then you drive home fairly full and satisfied, your arteries clogged just a little more, but not enough to really hurt you yet, right?