Quarter-hour Rhythm

Antoine J. Hayes
Nov 17, 2019 · 1 min read

I’m in line for a chicken sandwich. The cashier says there’s a fifteen-minute wait for spicy. Do I stay, swallowing down stomach rumbles? Or do I go and later regret my lack of fortitude?

My mouth waters in anticipation of the tasty burn, the crunchy heat promised by the restaurant’s promos of their chicken sandwich — back for a limited time only.

I crave it; probably because it’s not on the menu permanently. It’s like sex, the rare amazing toe-curling type, for the mouth. Imagine heat fucking your taste buds each and every way conceived.

Drool, like cum, drips down my chin. I wipe it on my shirt sleeve. Fuck it, I’m staying. My stare alternates between my watch and into the kitchen. My feet tap a quarter-hour rhythm.

Antoine J. Hayes

Written by

Person. Storyteller. Work-in-progress. Writer of fiction & poetry. Maker of zines & journals. Facilitator of creative workshops. Kimbilio Fellow www.ajhayes.com

More From Medium

More from Antoine J. Hayes

More from Antoine J. Hayes

I Made Peace With Writing

422

Also tagged Creative Writing

Also tagged Creative Writing

The Duplicity Of Skin

More from Antoine J. Hayes

More from Antoine J. Hayes

A Tree Grows in Baltimore

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade