Sara Depend sat curb side. Sucking down a fat milk shake from the petrol station. She loitered better than her forefathers before her. She was accompanied by her roommate, who, for the time being, seemed enamored by a group of pidgins eating a hotdog on the ground.

“That shizbit-fuck manager.” Sara grumbled, taking a big suck from her Gas Pass shake.

“Don’t be so goshin’ hard on yourself Sara-kun.” Replied the roommate, not noticing the look of sheer anger and hate built on Sara’s face. The roommate was too busy chasing pigeons to notice the pot hole in front of her. She tripped and bashed her head. A small stream of blood oozed down her face before she sad back on the curb.

“Shit, doll, shouldn’t you see a doc or somethin’?” asked Sara.

“Babe, you think I got the BurgerBucks to go see a shrink? Shit girl, I don’t even got credit chips for gas or a hot dog. These birbs got more goin’ than I do.”

A large ford F-850 mega truck drove past them, with its small chain family of Range Rovers following after. The Momma truck delivered fuel to the smaller babies after it filled up itself.

The endless rows of pumps were lit with neon above, empty and begging to be used, urging the unwelcome masses to facilitate the transfer of their sweet dinosaur guts.

“I don’t know what’s up now.” Sara said, “I’m gonna’ be out of credits by the end of the week.” She finished her milk shake and opened her bottle of forty. She chugged half of it before she threw the bottle in the street. It shattered into a thousand pieces, alerting the janitorial drone of the impending mess. The little robot hovered above and vacuumed it up.

Sara stood up and motioned to her roommate. It was time for them to leave. The sun was setting and that meant curfew ordinances were going to be in effect soon. The mobs of privy bounties woulda’ coulda’ get her got sooner or later.

They peeled out of the parking lot and drove for fifty miles down the freeway, back to her apartment complex. It was dark. She covered her car after parking in the one spot near a lamp post. Everything around it was on blocks.

The small town of Butterfingers Nebraska was just that. A dull reckless pile of shops and apartments. Fast food service with a smile. It wasn’t much to look at, but neither was the rest of the country. The NUCC took care of that. President McBurger Corps. took care of that.

It was back in 2005, before Sara was born, she learned about it in her private video lecturing sermon seminar, formerly the public school system post complete privatization.

The attorneys for Mac Burger had outsourced all their work, so they ended up putting all their time researching into the idea that corporations were people. Well, when they finally found the constitutional basis for corporate personhood, they realized the corp. could run for office. They also figured if money was free speech, they could offer a free soft drink with every proof of voting.

Mac Burger won by a landslide that year and most other corporate entities ended up filling the house and senate over the next few elections. Even the state legislatures were full of “smaller” corporations, with the only rule being they had to have been incorporated in that state. After that, every government contract included the construction of a new Mac Burger.

She was told it fueled job growth and GDP, but Sara just knew she was tired of the taste of McBurgers. Those thousand calories smothered in a secret sauce slammed in meat product on a proto-bun. She shivered.

With the car locked but still likely to be broken into, she walked up the seven flights of stairs to her apartment. There were some stray cats up here. The neighbor fed a pregnant one and it went on from there. They were cute but underfed. She popped the door to her apartment open and was greeted by the fresh sent of melted wax candles.

“Oi babe, them frickin’ candles make it smell like a grease fire or somethin’ in here.”

The roommate quickly ran over to the dining table and blew them out. “They were French fry sent, I though you were going to like it. My bad broski.”

Sara flopped herself on the couch and turned on her internet box by shouting “On!” at it. The machine responded, albeit after a few moments of the machine contemplating suicide.

“Good evening Sara, what type of media do you wish to consume tonight?” spoke the box.

“Synthetic Androids on the moon fighting bio-engineered dinosaurs.” she shouted. The box hummed and a light turned on. Sara put on a pair of blacked out sunglasses and sat back in her seat. The box had started projecting 3-D imaging to the glasses while her roommate tidied up. Soft roars and clanking dishes were the only noise that could be heard from within the apartment.

“What do you want for dinner?” asked the roommate, attempting to speak over the hardcore pornographic screaming.

“Huh?” Sara ripped off the glasses. “Maybe some pizza?”