I, Obbop, the Disgruntled Old Coot, rarely eats via the drive-through routine nor at any locale outside my humble hovel, my shanty upon the Ozark Plateau amidst the squalor of the horde of uncivil and anti-social human herd hereabouts.
When I did motor through the drive-through grab a burger, etc. fast-food joint I pert-near’ always grabbed some oh-so-fattening french fries, especially in winter when the birds found it harder to find food.
Notice the sparrows that often flock to cars parked near a fast-food joint, hopping around and gazing quizzically at the vehicle’s occupants; apparently attempting to communicate; “Hey, fella’, where’s my french fry?”
Well, with my thoughts during ordering including our feathered friends I had fries to toss that were eagerly grabbed and consumed.
I just hope that as I age further and with the economy sure to grow ever-worse and my descent into the true elderly state likely to propel me to dumpster diving and begging for vittles money perhaps some kind-hearted in-auto diners will toss me a few much-appreciated french fries.