7:02 am two herons in flight course over State Hill road toward the eye doctors’ building and above the ramp onto 422/222 where, jarring the overcast tableau, a lighted digital billboard shines like a surrogate morning sun:      



   In the bakery lot there are – separated and blown asunder – triplicate sheets for Borough of Wyomissing Pool, Playground and Tennis Registration and Additional Tennis lessons. Each sheet contains lines to apply for all four sports and recreation activities. Rain has fallen overnight and the morning air is muggy.

    When I pick up a damp yellow form and turn it over like a bubbling pancake, I can see the application is blank.  Folded four times, it tucks into the left hind jeans pocket of anyone clever or silly enough to do so.  Inside the bakery, I purchase 20 ounces of coffee in a paper cup and three multigrain rolls in a clear plastic bag marked with a black X and tied with a white paper covered wire twist tie. One roll drops on the floor and rolls under the basket bin, which Adam jokes is his rollaway bed. Adam refunds my money for the roll that spun out of control.

  I drive to the park. A report on the radio says the U.S. Census Bureau has released figures that indicate the centenarian population is a fast-growning subset of the population. “More of us are living longer,” reads the radio announcer. Several days ago Mike Golic on ESPN radio had said the average life expectancy of an NFL linesman is 54 to 55 years of age. What does one’s occupation have to do with one’s life?

   At the park, draw on my coffee cup a pathling and the jagged even notches of locust bean pods. The notches are perfect triangles, maybe even equilateral. Blooming bits of trees have dropped onto the path.

   Near the Heritage Center a teal egg lies on the path. Further down the path I remember to draw it and by now the Pool Registration form is dry and accepts the marks of a Pilot Precise V Rolling Ball Pen. The little panels created by the folds make panes for a couple of additional sketches, one of which is like a Chinese character for…*TBLU. Also found a shred of a Blu Raspeberry Dum Dum’s lollipop wrapper that, having been eaten or run over by a lawn mower, is a green and yellow color that compliments the application form.

   En route home avoidance of a red signal spurs me right turning on yellow arrow through Broadcasting Square, a detour of a shortcut. A man stands on the parapet of a McDonald’s franchise building, having hoisted a banner for “20 McNuggets.” He is almost finished tying it down at intervals along the top. Far right, part of the price is showing;  it look like $4 and a couple of stars from the man who would be king of the crenelated fortress of fast food.


3 thoughts on “NcMuggets

  1. Just this minute returned from the hospital. Well, it was either there or the tattoo parlour but because my fingers had swollen to the size of magnificent sex toys, I hazarded a guess that the doctors might be my better bet to avoid arrest.

    Apparently, it was sugar levels this time.

    Saved from pretentious gothic,/celtic skin scribbles for now. Hurrah!

    I have an itching suspicion your roof walking McNuggets fellow might be weighed down by stars and feels the responsibility, even when at home. Lord love ‘im!

      1. It interests me that so many people talk about it, think about it, say they want and need it. Everyone has an opinion on it, a desire to express, a score to boast about and dream about. Yet, there is so little of it about. I know I looked everywhere just last night and couldn’t find any anywhere.

        Also, when you pay good money for sex training, why do people (especially our partners) disapprove? Surely it’s the one thing you want to be really, really good at.

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