The Extra Value Meal

Aaron lit a Basic brand cigarette as Amir pulled his beat up 1976 snot

green Chevy Nova into the crowded parking lot of the McDonalds on Route 1 in

Saugus, Massachusetts. He always seemed to do this to himself; lighting

cigarettes when he'd just have to snipe them out on the bottom of his tattered

army boot. He put his pointer finger to his head and pantomimed shooting

himself. Amir glanced at him uneasily, then scanned the lot for an open space.

Aaron drew hard on his cigarette, filling his lungs with as much smoke

as possible. He needed to get as much nicotine as time allowed. He shut his

eyes, flicked his tongue against his sterling silver lip ring, spinning it in

the hole. It hurt a little. "Probably fuckin' infected," Aaron chuckled,

thinking of the night he pierced it himself, using only a heated up safety pin

and a bottle of Smirnov vodka for a pain killer.

Amir pulled into a handicap spot. "You can't park here," Aaron said.

"Sure I can," Amir replied. Aaron studied the face of the Bosnian

Immigrant. Amir had fought for two years in the war against the Serbs. His

face was remarkably pleasant, although his eyes looked as if they belonged to a

forty year old man and not a seventeen year old boy. His tan skin and wide

smile seemed out of place when one took in Amir's mohawk and torn black t-shirt.

"It's a handicap spot."

"Exactly," Amir said with a smirk. "I got you in my car, and you're a

retard."

"Fuck you," Aaron said, "I'll blast you Sylvester Stallone style."

Amir burst into hysterical laughter. "You watch too much television."

Aaron shrugged and slowly exhaled through his nose, decorated with a

silver hoop ring through his septum (also self-pinned). He caught sight of

himself in the rearview mirror. He felt cold.

His eyes were alert, almost piercing. Around those fiery, stabbing eyes

were lines of sadness, although he was also only seventeen. His hair was

bleached blonde and messy --Johnny Rotten messy. His face was long and thin, a

result of many days of not eating, either because he had no money for food or

because he simply forgot to eat. He was menacing, with his facial piercings and

angry eyes, but there was something about his mouth, a kind of innocent smirk

that gave hint of something real within his hard, rough punk rock shell.

Amir got out of the car slowly, stretching out his arms. Aaron caught

glimpse of something wild and almost ancient in Amir's eyes. He got out, too,