One shakeshack dog shy of a sunday.

At sunset, the proverbial Sunday outing from tea-time to supper, becomes a more variable expedition of tastes than the moment that supplies the conditional YES to life in the week ahead.

Choose a destination.

This week, i have chosen the Shake Shack at the end of the world (or what it feels like), at the breach of Sentosa Island, but in a mall.

Decide on what to eat.

This expedition proves pretty successful as i come upon a really good bench good for six, and unoccupied so i could lay out my wares – the heaps of pens and notebooks alongside my soda, fries and sandwich (in this case i wanted to try their shackdog), and custard (socially giving a percentage of proceeds to dog shelters), and as it happens i like dogs, hot or otherwise, not.

Go get a table.

First you order, at the human-manned registers – and pay cash. Or at the electronic POS and have serious contemplation on the menu. I tend to know what i want – and order right away, so the shortest route of hotdog-to-stomach is my choice of payment.

Get your tray, at the buzz.

So having made your order decisively and the accompanying payment system approval, it is go time.

Eat.

The hit of mustard and ketchup are perfection in the grill – or it could be accompanied by the sunset hues of purple and fading summer yellows that favours the afterglow of really good post-rainfall clarity that serenely stares at all our maskless outdoor faces, poised to find a good reason to be engaging more socially again.

Someday.