In Burger King today. In the Mission. The Mission. There are no other missions around. They’ve given up on this place long ago. There are no souls here to save. All damned.

In Burger King. Hope of the whopper. The triple stacker. The artificial meat and artificial bread. Sucking down syrup mixed with carbonated water. It tickles the nose. Tickles the throat. Tickles the head.

A quiet lunch. Beggars wait in line.

Will you buy me something to eat?

All of us beggars.

What?

Swinging around a burning star.

Will you buy me something to eat?

Sorry. No.

The future swirls all around. Late running buses. Classes, schools falling apart. None of this will save. Crumbling into the Pacific. The earth will claim her own. And won’t remember any of this. Any of these forgotten dreams.

Will you buy me something to eat?