>A very dramatic drive-through order

	Edwin Dutton was soon to be enjoying his favorite meal from his favorite fast-food restaurant, and god willing, it would be the last time. He ordered a triple patty Bacon Blitzer with a large order of curly fries and a large chocolate shake from the Dallas based burger-joint Tony Tolbert’s, the one place you can always go to ... Get a sack!

	“Thank you, have a nice day, sir,” a young woman said with a soft southern draw as she handed Edwin a sack of grub.

	“Yup,” Edwin quickly replied. His paw snatched the warm food, and his car was rolling away before his arm was back inside. Not one to risk stuffing himself while he drove, Edwin rode the throttle of his car into a parking spot straight ahead of the drive-through lane and shifted into park. He left the motor running with the air conditioner on full blast, but the window remained cracked for fresh air, of course.

	Edwin Dutton fished a few of the golden curly fries from the bag, which rebounded like greasy springs before he slipped them into his mouth. With his other hand, he adjusted the radio to 105.3 THE FAN. There wasn’t a more bliss experience to Edwin than this; fast-food and football, and boy were the Cowboys looking good this year. Sure, the previous year they were 8-8, but quarterback Dak Prescott looked like he was hitting his stride as a passer, and nothing could stop them this year! Edwin listened and nodded in agreement with the sports-radio pundits as he smacked on the curly fries. This would be the last time.

	A month prior, Frank Dutton, Edwin’s father, died of a massive heart attack. The doctor said that Frank was probably dead before he hit the floor. His father’s massive heart attack, which was brought on by his massive weight, which was brought on by the massive consumption of Tony Tolbert’s, had been a tradition before Cowboy games for the better part of twenty years.

	They buried Frank under an August sun, and the pallbearers were all red in the face and drenched with sweat. Edwin knew what they were thinking. More than likely, they’d end up having to heft him up on their shoulders, and it would be sooner than not. Like father, like son.

	After the service, once the dirt filled in his father's grave, Edwin vowed in a moment of clarity that he wouldn’t go out the same way. Everything seemed to make so much sense, and his resolve was unbending. He’d just get Tony Tolbert's one last time, for his dad. But one last time turned into several one last times’, and a month later, Edwin was in the drive through at least five days a week.
The Bacon Blitzer was now out of the bag and warmly resting on Edwins thighs, though still wrapped in the sandwich paper. As he finished the rest of the curly fries and discarded the bag under his seat, he reached out towards the cup holder without looking over. Empty. His eyes glanced down and then over to the passenger seat. Empty.

	Edwin wasn’t a picky eater, but he’d established a routine to eating; fries, milkshake, burger. It had been like that since before Frank died, and so it had to be like that. He moved the hamburger to the passenger seat and reversed the car out of park and filed back into the drive through.

	“People these days! Can’t even get your order right,” Edwin said, shaking his head. He found himself at the end of the line that extended around Tony Tolbert’s. By his measure, it would take a good ten minutes in the drive through queue. Unacceptable.

	Heat waves rolled off of the hood of Edwin’s car. Slowly, all the vehicles lurched forward, inching towards the drive through
speaker. Maybe if he chewed out the young woman that handed off his food, they would just bring it out to him instead of having to wait to get to the window. He hadn’t gotten a receipt. Maybe he forgot to order the shake? No, nonsense! Certainly when they saw his car back in line, they would know something was wrong. Edwin was a regular, and they would know that they had botched his order.

	‘Bet the shake is just sittin’ on the counter next to the window. Bet they feel real stupid,’ Edwin thought. The shake would be soupy, it would be runny. He would demonstrate to the woman her error and remove the lid from the cup and hold it upside down… But that would be wasteful — perhaps he could have two? Edwin was in a caloric trance.

	A child in front of his car snapped him out of it. His eyes tracked the young boy as he ran across the hot, wavy blacktop and towards Tony Tolbert’s. Edwin noticed that as the boy ran, he held the bottom of his shirt down. Edwin remembered running the same way as a kid. It was to keep his stomach from poking out and to keep his breasts from bouncing. As an adult, though he didn’t run, he was suddenly aware of the weight his body carried. He was aware of the folds and pockets and rashes his body now had, and of the vow that he’d made after Frank died. The vow that he’d broken many times over. That thought made him tighten his grip on his steering wheel. Soon, the boy disappeared inside. His parents schlepped along behind them. They looked hot, and they looked uncomfortable. And their son, at such a young age, already harboring insecurities that Edwin never grew out of.

	‘Just if I had another chance,’ Edwin thought, his eyes glazed over. His nostrils flared and his chest rose as he breathed deeply. He looked at the burger next to him. ‘I can still change.’

	In front of him, the line of cars lurched forward. After a pause, Edwin followed.

	Like father, like son.