Fries go in, fries come out. Fries go in, fries come out. Small, regular, large, extra-large. Fries go in, fries come out. Sweat drips down my back, my chest burning hot. I try not to scald my forearms when people slam into me, rushing between stations. Fries go in, fries come out. I am the siren call of McDonald's: smell the fries, you cannot resist. You want the fries. You need the fries, I hate the fries. I am the fries. Fries go in, fries come out.
-Whitney Gardner
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