strawberry milkshake disaster

twilight zone found us yesterday. a little boy in a burger joint in midtown early evening, chewing on his dad’s wallet, waiting for his strawberry shake. an older salesman peddling smiles and drinking from a flask on the other side of us. he guessed the city where I came from. We ordered our garlic fries and hammer#1 off the menu. daddy got his boy a piggy bank for quarters. this boy loves his daddy restlessly, and excited for a shake. it’s a timeless nameless place and I dunno why. in a moment everything changed when a six foot glass door to a show case, fell off and shattered all over the dad and his boy. how? why? the boy was crying and we rushed over to help get the glass out of his jacket and clothes. everyone was shocked by the sound and the waitresses all milling about with brooms and proprietary concern. the boy could not be consoled but he was okay. dad was quietly fuming and our orders all came up and the salesman got back to laughing and knowing things he had no business knowing. you and me we were wondering about it all, drawn up in the strangeness. then another shockwave through the air, rippling the nameless, timeless space. I turned in my seat and saw the cashier, she had a strawberry milkshake running down her hair and her dress. the boy had gone away with his daddy carrying him

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