Hot Food

In the alley, Simon sildled past the fat lady splayed out drunk and snoring and smelling like cheap gin. He didn’t want to wake her. He’d done that the last time he’d taken the shortcut, and she was not a pleasant person when awakened. She wasn’t very pleasant asleep, either. He took his time and tip toed carefully around her.
Once safely through the alley, Simon hung a right and headed down the sidewalk to Hot Food, where he planned to order his usual greasy cheese burger with a side of greasy fries. Upon arrival, he was surprised to see the doors closed. Hot Food never closed their doors. Unbelieving, he tugged on the left door. Then pushed. Then tried the door on the right.
Closed. Locked.
There was a big red sticker plastered over the glass on the door. He could read some of the letters. There were defintitely some ’S’es and ’N’s in it.
He imagined it said, “Out buying cheese,” or,“Went for a stroll.”
Even with some cash in his pocket, he’d have to skip lunch and come back again, later.

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