The passenger door slammed tightly shut as my sister trotted toward the shop door to purchase some treats. My eyes examined the brick letters that had faded from red to white above the store.

“Owhata dairy,” I read.

“Mum, is it Thursday today?”

“Yes, all day,” She replied with a smile.

 Silence poured through the cracks of the window, shattering as Brooke opened the car door.

“Here you go Devin, one gobstopper.”

 She shoved a bag with a large lolly into my hands.

“And sixty cents change,” she continued.

We were travelling down to Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, for our grandfather’s funeral.

“Taupo, Sixty-five kilometres.”

The green sign blurred as we drove past. I tried to ignore Brooke’s voice swearing and cussing at me, but I couldn’t resist. At first the argument was just yelling, until she turned it into world war three. World war three continued all the way through down to Wellington.

My head slowly rose from the baby blue pillow that sat between the door and my head.

“K.F.C or McDonalds?”

Mum questioned enthusiastically.

“K.F.C! My voice erupted.

A voice sounded from a large speaker box that sat on the pavement beside the driver’s door of the car.

“May I take your order?”

The soft voice lifted through the weaved wiring and caught the breezes flow.

“Brooke? Devin? What do you want?”

“I’ll have… a Big Ben, a strawberry Krusher, and an apple pie.”

She caught the end of the question.

“Popcorn Chicken sounds good, and a barbeque wrap and…”

My mind puzzled, searching for a drink but there were so many flavours that my taste buds desired.

“And a cookies and cream Krusher.”

I continued.

“One strawberry Krusher, two cookies and cream Krushers, one Big Ben and two Boxes of Popcorn Chicken. Thank you”

Mum clutched the brown paper bag tightly in her fist and handed it to Brooke. Mum passed some change to the lady in a uniform opposite her and the window slid shut. Brooke handed the delicious food to us and my teeth sank into a pastry like bread. The flavours exploded in my mouth as I bit into paradise. I shuffled a red cardboard box open and hand-fulled popcorn chicken into my gagged mouth. Sauce dribbled down my cheek, as I savoured the spicy balls of chicken. The chicken tasted like Satay.