by Amber Baird
Sunshine yellow mustard caked all over my hands, America’s Favorite Brand or what the fuck ever, I grab the next bottle. Squirt out ketchup, America’s Favorite non-Newtonian fluid, in a spiral pattern on the wood-style laminate floor. Twist my hips to the soft rock anthem still blaring out of the diner’s sound system.
They announced it this morning, the death of capitalism.