I'm on my way back to the United States. But I'm not there yet. But I'm reminded of it again, the United States, here in Scotland, just passing through. The portions here are enormous—like in the United States.
A lady this morning with a St—rbucks in her hand looked like she was about to tip-over. Her coffee was nearly bigger than she was. And my P—ke's Place, which I was craving,—an American coffee, slow-drip—though I regret because it tastes shit, it will maybe take me 3 hours to drink—the smallest size even. And I'll maybe miss my flight.
But to be fair, I stopt at McD—nald's yesterday and had a coffee. It took only one-and-a-half hours for me to drink. And it tasted like burnt hair. This P—ke's Place tastes like burnt plastic. Let's see does sugar help. Nope. A hint of cardboard is that now?
And the little girl next to me yesterday at the McD—nald's and her babysitter across from her each had a tray full of food in front of them—burgers, fish-fingers, fries, drinks, and milkshakes. Claire, the babysitter asked, Claire, is your McFl—rry good, Claire? Claire, is your McFl—rry good, yes or no? Claire finally burped out a yes. Good indeed, I'd say.
I thought they'd maybe leave me money on their way out, Claire-Claire and the babysitter, thinking I had none myself looking-over at my tray—an empty box of fries and a coffee. But I was full enough honestly. I even used the water closet on my way out. But doesn't everyone at McD—nald's?
And then I had way too much money in my pocket. So I stopt into a pub a bit more down the way after a bit. I had to use both hands to carry-back to my seat the enormous pint of beer the bartender had given me for almost nothing.
I thought maybe of asking her for help drinking the thing, the beer, the bartender. Impatience it was with which she kept glancing at my glass about every 5 minutes. But the seats there were cusioned, red-leather benches, very comfortable. And I was glad of it, sat there for nearly 2 hours drinking my beer.