Once upon a time, I thought Mcdonald's was a fancy place. I remember the smell of sunrise dew mingled with sizzling salted pork, hot coffee in Styrofoam cups and the distinct aroma of imitation maple syrup. The spat of butter shaped like a corn cob melting onto a hotcake, and the orange juice that didn't quite taste like actual oranges, but we loved it anyway.
Now I pass a McDonald's almost every day while taking my kids to school by bicycle. Sometimes it is a a place to duck into out of the rain, our shelter from the storm.
As we sit dipping our fries into sweet and sour sauce, a man beside us pens onto a scrap piece of paper X's and O's in random patterns as if in some great effort to return a distant memory.
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