This is a Richard Brautiganesque short story of mine published in The Green Fuse, ©1976 Department of English, North Texas State University.

Photo from internet with no attribution. Unable to locate source.

My wife, interjecting, said she wanted French Fries & Ketchup. When one is three months short of a baby, French Fries & Ketchup can be an extremely now sort of affair.

I, interjected upon, was diligently spoon-feeding my soul to the TV and had no time.

TV lives on souls and time.

Nadine was silent but insistent, her eyes showing ever more intent.

It looked like I would have to go.

We made a quick, clean break to the truck and drove to the Jack-in-the-Box. Minimal tube lag.

After we entered the drive-through, Jack greeted us in his pleasantly offensive way by not looking at us and smiling a huge, perplexed-plastic smile. He talked to us in a girl’s voice and said, “May I have your order, please?”

“Yes, French Fries & Ketchup,” I replied.

Jack smiled and stared into space, “Anything to drink?”

“No, just French Fries & Ketchup.”

Cut. “And from this day forth, my famous smile will be “L’Enigme Plastique” to the Neo French Fries & Ketchup genre of American Televised Art,” said Jack, sounding like the narrator of an important but dull documentary.

“Oh,” was all I said. But, we drove down the little lane to pick up our food with deepened respect.

As we stopped, I looked through the serving window. Momentarily enraptured by the bustling people under the bright lights, I began to feel a sense of double bewilderment. The framed image before me blurred and ghosts danced in symmetrical disharmony.

Entranced, I reeled and gaped until French Fries & Ketchup reestablished its mandate.

I awkwardly reached for my wallet that wasn’t there. More awkwardly, I looked to my wife as she deftly searched the glove compartment for some change that wasn’t there, too.

Her eyes drifted ruefully into mine, and the mandatory litany of husband and wife silently stretched out between us.

“No money,” I said like a station break.

Nadine only smirked by way of mourning the delay of French Fries & Ketchup.

I turned my head as a girl with sandy hair and a cathode stare leaned out the little window.

“Thirty-two cents,” she said.

“TV,” I replied.

Her smile was a lot like Jack’s.