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Slave On before/after Went to Taco Bell today in a nearby city after buying a book to read. I walked inside and an african american woman with a lot of hard miles looked at me and said, "I'll be right with you." She was cleaning. Nearby, a man of indeterminate age and hard mileage swooped behind the counter. She looked at him,"You got it?" He nodded. He was very polite and effusive in his service. I looked at him with a casual eye, saw the missing teeth, saw the stain on the two front teeth, his pallor and lack of weight and pegged him as a former crack abuser. Some sort of powdered drug, anyway. Never trust the powdered drugs, even Exstasy. Powdered drugs are bad. I gave my order, he took it. It came up quickly. I sat down at the hard formed pastel seats of taco bell to eat, ripping through a taco and launching into my steak quesadilla to find that they had screwed up and given me a chicken quesadilla. I dont like the chicken of taco bell. I'm not sure why, other than the taste is a bit funky, like itallian. And there is no place for itallian in mexican cuisine. I like my cultures separate. Just like America. I thought about it a second. Likely the guy behind the counter screwed up. And he's probably on parole or probation of some sort. Hanging on to tenuous fragile sober reality with his fingertips, looking for an excuse to downward spiral. So I shut up and ate half of it. He's probably got enough problems anyway, without his two-bit peice of shit slave manager of his wage-slave job getting on his head.
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