Where the fries are left all alone, realising what loneliness feels like for the first time

Rarely happens does it. When the fries are left all alone. Means not even one of them is touched. And I think they know this fact. The way they sit still, all sizzling and gleaming with oil, all “we know you gonna bite us mofo” smug and all.

And then, one day, they are just ignored. And this ain’t at no vegan, ghass phoos place either. But full on junk food heaven. Like proper deep fried chicken with sausages covered in bacon type place. A place where the ketchup is unlimited. And probably the healthiest thing in the entire joint.

Can totally imagine their shock at first. The disbelief. As the hands move all over the plate, grabbing the deep fried cheese. Picking up the salted shrimp. Tossing the peri peri sausages right into the mouth. But just avoiding the fries. Completely avoiding the fries. Even that seductive little fucker who has rolled off the plate and is now right in the line of sight. Yup, even that little fucker. So brown, so crispy.

And then the panic setting in. The slow, crippling panic mixed with self-doubt. “Were we not good enough?”. “What did we do wrong?” “Are we paying for our sins?”

“Oh god will we end up like…like…like SALAD??????”

.

I don’t know if foods have gods. Maybe they do. May be their gods have as intricate and complex a story as ours. Perhaps.

.

I was reading something about Ethopia and how old civilisation is and how pretty the country is. And I decided that I would go there some day.  Not very soon perhaps but definitely some day.

I like those kinds of plans. The ones which are like clouds in the sky. You can see them, and they don’t seem too distant. And they look so beautiful. And, on good days, you know that you will meet them in the near future. You just know.

Inside.

.

 

 

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