Cold Fries, Warm Engine
Cold fries
warm engine
full tank
empty soul
riding for a tip
that barely plugs a hole
App takes the first bite
taxes take what’s left
I’m chasing other people’s dinner
through the edges of their wealth
Phone buzz hits my pocket
another order on the map
spin the keys
start the rattle
chase that tiny little circle
Restaurant line around the corner
staff half-dead on their feet
clock ticking on the pickup
while the ice melts in the seat
The order on the screen
no face
just an address and a gate
special notes in all caps
screaming “Do not be late”
I’m parked in the fire lane
hazards blinking in the rain
breathing in fried air
and secondhand pain
Hand off greasy paper bags
to a doorway with no eyes
“Leave it at the door”
like they’re allergic to goodbyes
Door opens once I’m walking
hand grabs the food and slams
notification dings a tip
I can count on just my thumbs
App pings “Great job, keep going”
like an arcade machine
stars and streaks and badges
while my gas eats through the pain
Tires bald from all this grinding
brakes soft under my shoe
but that weekly statement swears
I made a fortune I never knew
See them in their windows
glowing screens and wine
I’m just a shadow on the sidewalk
running out of time
Map keeps redrawing my night
with arrows and turns
every mile I drive
is one more hour that burns
Bathroom break at a gas station
sink coughs rusty spit
I wash off the fryer smell
and get right back in it
Phone at ten percent
charger cord held together with tape
hope rides with the signal
waiting for an escape
Final order near midnight
long stairs
busted light
climb through stale hallway air
to a door that feels not right
No tip
no thanks
just silence
and a flick of some lock
Walk back down the stairwell
punch-drunk off the clock
Kill the app
kill the engine
sit quiet in the dark
steering wheel under my forehead
keys biting my palm like a mark
Tomorrow I’ll light it back up
for another hungry town
tonight I’m just breathing
trying not to break down