Chicken Alfredo
A Cautionary Tale
His face glowed red from the traffic lights as he watched his feet. One slow step as he fondled the squeaky foam edges of his takeout container. Another step; another squeak.
His brow furrowed at a sound he could have imagined. He was used to imagining things into his perception of reality.
The breeze hissed in his ear and tussled his overgrown beard. It shook the lights that hung from heavy, potent wires and warned him to pick up his pace. His mind wandered to his morning routine and the hum of his electric toothbrush.
Almost the same pitch. Hummmm.
The song from the restaurant rattled in his brain, losing some of its lyrics as it bounced around.
It hadn’t been the best day, but it was an overall good day in a sea of really shit days. It was a day that warranted no apologies and no regrets. A day his baby sister finally came in for a visit, insistent on buying him dinner. She told him he looked better. Happier.
The humming grew louder and turned into an engine, headlights burning into his eyes, but he was stuck.
Do I run? Do I jump? Can I make it in time?
His mind threw out a dozen more ideas before his leg twitched to run for the sidewalk. He moved in slow motion while the headlights hugged his silhouette. His knee gave way to the bumper and sent his limp body sailing over the top of the shiny, four-door sedan. His eyes fixed on the food splattered across the intersection, whiffs of Chicken Alfredo taking over his senses. As his vision darkened and his face went cold, a thought ran through his mind.
I should’ve eaten it all at the restaurant.
