Be Your McLovin

Their Bench

Ronald sat alone on his bench. People came by and sat next to him from time to time. But it was not the same. It wasn't him.

The children either happily giggled or screamed in fear when they saw him. Apparently, people didn't like clowns anymore. He heard the teenagers reading "creepypastas" about him.

He didn't know what made the pasta creepy, nor what it had to do with him, but it hurt nonetheless.

It was a sad day. His clown frown couldn't turn upside down. Because his lover - his everything - his Burger King: his home was shutting down. Moving far down the street. A lot farther than where it rested now, in shambles, across the street.

Sammy was his everything. Their restaurants started together on the same day. The management saw them as competition. But he... He just saw him.

6'8 with brown hair that rested majestically under his crown, he was a dream come true. Not a knight in shining armour. But a King.

The Burger King.

He stole his McFucking heart that day. And Ronald stole his.

But now. He was moving away. After two months of their budding romance, it was over. But Ronald knew in his heart it couldn't be. He wouldn't give up that easily! Ooh that rhymed. Yay.

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Staring across the street Sammy saw him. Sitting all by his lonesome, his arm outstretched over the back of the bench like it always was.

Ronald. His true love. His dear future husband. (R.I.P Meghan Trainor) Looking so sad. And knowing that he was the source of that pain hurt his greasy soul.

He wished he didn't have to leave. He wished he could treck down the street every day, but it just wasn't possible.

There were sewer rats and pigeons that would love to eat at the leftover food stuffed inside his crown that he kept for nom-noms. It was too dangerous. He'd never make it there in one piece.

Across the street was one thing, but up AND across it was a whole nother story. A neverending story. Oohooohooohooooohoohoohoooo.

He watched as Ron's massive shoes tapped slowly along to the song playing distantly in the competing restaurant, probably Meghan Trainor (R.I.P). The winning restaurant. The Grease Guardians. The Trash Terrorists. The Children's Entertainment Champions. The dopest joint.

He wished he could hold his hand and tell him that everything would be okay. Sit on the bench beside him. Their bench. And tell him he would love him till the day they melted him down to use as various pieces of tuber ware.

But alas, it would have to wait until nightfall. Their last night together.