McDonald’s Nyborg – The Holy Trinity of Fat, Boredom, and Salvation
After the vanished castle, we moved on, because people must eat, even if only out of desperation.
The sky hung low, gray and greasy like the frying fat that would determine our future.
McDonald’s Nyborg glowed like a modern monastery: square windows, the light of eternal opening hours.
Inside, it smelled of salt and regret.
Els studied the menu as if it were a Bible in translation:
“Big Mac, McChicken, McMystiek… Everything here is ephemeral, except the fries.”
She ordered three portions, for body, mind, and ideology.
Harm, visibly moved by the self-service kiosk, whispered:
“Here, one chooses one’s own sin. That is freedom.”
He pressed for extra sauce, while looking at the boy behind the counter—
a Danish cherub with acne and a headset.
Gerard reappeared, no one knew from where.
He drank a milkshake with the dignity of a cardinal and said:
“The burger is the host of modern times. One takes, one swallows, one forgets.”
Els nodded, powdered sugar from past lives still in her hair.
Then, in the midst of this rich grace, came the sound that holds the universe together:
PING!
Johnny’s Vintage & Leathers – 50% off leather wallets.
Els looked up, tears in her eyes.
“Even God has a sale,” she said.
Outside, a soft rain fell in the parking lot.
Harm ate his last nugget with the seriousness of a confessor.
I, Gerard, paid in silence – because even in Nyborg, the bill always remains.
And as the McDonald’s doors closed behind us like the gates of a modern-day purgatory,
I knew: paradise exists.
It smells of ketchup, and it closes at three o’clock.
Harm Jansen
.
07 november 2025
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