In an empty food court, a burger chain shopfront stands between a thai restaurant and a bizarre rock-themed chicken shop. Two young men, practically still boys, stand behind the counter. They wear red-coloured, featureless uniforms. A casual observer would have difficulty telling them apart. One wears the nametag reading “Simmons”, another wears the name “Grif”. They wear demeaning, ill-fitted hats.

Leaning on the counter, Simmons turns to Griff. “Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”

Grif barely looks up, continuing to listlessly reorganise the sauce packets as he replies in a far-off voice. “I know man, like, what’s the big reason? Are we some kind of cosmic coincidence or is there really a god of some kind, watching over us? That shit keeps me up at night.”

Simmons paused for a second, mulling over Grif’s words before asking, “What? I mean, why are we here, in this mall? Far as I can tell we’re only here because Boxed Lunches Unlimited is across the way, and they’re only here because Readily Edible Dinners is here. I mean what the hell? If RED Burger closed tomorrow and BLU burger took over, then they’d have two franchises in this shitty little mall. It’s been three hours since we last had a customer, did you notice? I swear, this is a fucking waste of time.”

Grif hadn’t moved through Simmons’ rant. He was still staring at the packet of Sour Ranch Sauce.

“What was all that stuff you said about god, before?”

Grif continues to stare intently at the sauce packet. “Nothing.”

“Did you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

Across the court, in a suspiciously similar shopfront, stand two more young men. They are also wearing demeaning, ill-fitting uniforms with hats that look like they were invented for people with significant facial deformities. Their uniforms are blue, and their nametags have “Church” and “Tucker” printed on them. Church is holding up a pair of binoculars and spying on RED Burger, while Tucker is holding a cup from the soda machine.

Tucker takes a drink of his stolen soft drink and elbows Church. “What are they doing now?”

Church sighed and lowered the binoculars, “I am getting so fucking sick of answering that question.”

“Well you have a pair of fucking binoculars and I can’t see shit. So do expect me to just stand here and play with my dick?”

“They’re just sitting there and talking, just like always. Just like when you asked me last time, and exactly the way they will be when you ask me again in five minutes. So if you ask me again what they’re doing, I’m going to dip your fucking head in the fryer and hold you down until I can smell bacon.”

Tucker leans back against the postmix machine and thinks about this for a few seconds.

“What are they talking about?”

Church let his head fall to the counter top. “You know what? I fucking hate you.”