It was hotter inside than out
heat and chicken hung in the air
like lingering memories of the afternoon
hiding from the cool hand of night behind the counter in KFC
I stood in line and sweated in my jacket, too lazy to take it off
from the end of the queue I watched the boy taking the orders
I watched his hands, smooth and finely veined
they moved without grace or hope, tired and loveless
the smooth hands of a lonely boy
I have seen those hands before
I watched his face, turned thin and sour from the heat and grease
I watched him sweat from the heat of the lamps and the grills
and the impatient stares of the customers on the other end of the counter
I did not pity him
but in that moment I could not love him either

AcB 05.12.01