The Volcano Taco

    The rainy spring afternoon cold and damp, I hustled into Taco Bell for a roof to rescue me from the sleet and some snack to save me from a moaning stomach. Bright lights and colors emanated from the windows into the dirty snow and gray earth surrounding the building, but the atmosphere inside only emphasized the bleakness of the outside.
    The cold doors yielded to a warm, exciting ambiance, ready to fill the hungry, weary outsiders with a truly wonderful, synthesized happiness only a fast-food restaurant could produce and steadily maintain. Characters hung on the bright walls, displaying joyous faces and beautiful figures. Meanwhile, the employees either monotonously tidied the floor, stood patiently behind the impassable counter, or assembled an order, deep in the busy section reachable only with sight. As my eyes wandered around the facility, the worker at the counter intently stared in my direction, seeking an order.
    The extravagant menu caused my mouth to water and my pupils to dilate; the list of tacos and varieties of burritos delighted my senses, but the line that read “Volcano Taco” intrigued my taste buds the most. After selecting the taco and paying $1.27, suspense became my newest set of chains.
    The clocks ticked at the same tempo as if in one of my old math classes taught by a senile man. The employees worked like they were underwater, patiently performing their duties. The world rotated like a 45 record playing at 33.
    My face brightened as I received the tray from the employee at the counter, but I possessed a disappointed expression; the package was sized for my cat’s lunch. After sitting down at a clean table and opening the wrapping, I uncovered the red taco and began to consume it. The flavor overwhelmed my mouth for no more than a few minutes, and once I completed eating it, my stomach grumbled.