Henry stops his steed. White milk shake. The horse gallops, Henry claps his hands. Half the patrons look away, the rest stare, all the while telling their children not to. The manager fills the order, places the tall, vanilla shake on the table with two straws, a napkin.
Henry stops riding, eyes the glass.
White milk shake. He pulls the papers from the straws, places them just so on the table, tucks the napkin carefully into his frayed collar, stabs the straws into the glass, sucks hard, without stopping for breath. For the length of a dozen mouthfuls, he is just like everyone else. All rights reserved.