Tore into the bag on the ground with a ferocious fervor never minding the sickly sweet smell of rotting elephant dung hanging in the air of this filthy back alley in Taipei.
It has been days since I ate and not going to let the local dog pack get the jump on this morsel. I throw out pieces of slim shiny plastic, meaningless in these days along with paper printouts, hoping my foray out of cover will be worth it. I get to the bottom of the bag and see the iconic emblem of the golden arches, my foray did pay off. I remove the bag opening it and inside find a feast. A discarded pickle a quarter of a chewed bun along with the remnants of an all beef patty, sans ketchup thank god. As I start to feast I hear an awful screeching from above, I look up and its one of their infernal machines sleek like some kind of mercurial bird of prey. I freeze like a rabbit spotting the circling hawk knowing my end is near, but I haven’t survived this long to let all this knowledge die for the time of freedoms return.