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Gregor bit into his burger, tasting beef, tomato, and lettuce. Not bad. He certainly had much, much worse.
And then he took another bite and instantly grimaced. Pickles. Didn’t he ask for no pickles? What the hell were they doing in his burger then?
Heathcliff caught on immediately. “Oi, what’s wrong? You look like you stepped into dog shite.”
“Well…” Gregor took off the top bun, revealing the perpetrator. It stared up at them both in all its green, slimy glory.
“Pickles? Really, old man?”
“...And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Aren’t ya too old to be acting like a spoiled brat?”
“I’m not,” Gregor grumbled. “I asked them for no pickles. Dunno why they still gave them to me.” He wondered privately to himself if it was even a mistake. Most people didn’t care when it came to him. He was used to it, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t tired of it.
Heathcliff shrugged. He chomped away at his perfectly made burger. “So what? Just tell them you said no pickles.”
Gregor sighed. Heathcliff didn’t get it. It was one thing if someone like Meursault told them. It was another thing entirely if something like him did.
“It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just pickles. I’ll take them out and—wait, where’re you going?”
Heathcliff set down his burger and marched right up to the cashier. He pointed straight at Gregor. “Oi. He said no pickles.”
The cashier blinked, looking at him like he suddenly had five heads in addition to the bug arm. Then, they yelled towards the kitchen before apologizing to Heathcliff.
Two minutes later, Heathcliff returned, handing Gregor a brand new and now pickle-less burger.
“There. Now you can enjoy your nosh just like the rest of us.”
Gregor stared down at his piping hot meal. He hadn’t expected Heathcliff to do all that for him. Hell, he hadn’t expected him to do anything at all. He wasn’t the type that people went out of their way for.
Suddenly, it felt much too hot in the restaurant. Maybe it was the weather. Yeah. That was probably it.
“Oh, uh, thanks,” he stammered. He bit into his burger, tasting beef, tomato, and lettuce. Not bad. He certainly had much, much worse. And when he took a second bite, there were no nasty pickles to ruin his day.
But that wasn’t all there was to it. For some reason, the more he ate, the more it tasted good. Delicious, even. Like the best damn meal Gregor had ever eaten on the bus. Which didn't make any sense. He had steak dinners that were richer and juicer than this. Yet, it was this 1000 Ahn burger he found himself wanting to eat again.
Gregor looked up at Heathcliff, at him busily chomping away. At the dab at ketchup glistening on his lips. Suddenly, he couldn't swallow, and suddenly, he was hungry again.
Maybe it was the weather. Yeah. That was probably it.