Here at Home

May 12, 2017

Whataburger is a thing where I’m from; it’s a fast food restaurant. On late Friday nights after the movies or early mornings after staying up all night to see the meteor shower in the middle of nowhere, the greasy, delicious burgers accompanied with skinny fries and a milkshake top off a good night nicely.

My family and I had never had it until I was about ten years of age and since then I’ve had countless memories made there with family and friends.

We’d made it a tradition to grab Whataburger after every family vacation since then. After my middle school band competitions and high school awards ceremonies, after practicing parking for the first time, after taking nationally standardized tests, I always found myself there, respectively celebrating. The day before my high school graduation, I grabbed shakes with a friend who gave me a letter there, which would later become one of the most important instruments of my personal discovery. My friends from work or college or even friends my age from high school never minded joining me for late, late night visits after running errands together, or after a long work shift, or after a long day of class. Once, I’d come back from a recording session with my best friend, the future audio engineer, and we got shakes and chicken strip sandwiches at eleven at night on the drive home. And after driving an hour and a half to escape the light dome and watch the Geminids one warm, Texas December, my family and I had Whataburger at four in the morning. Before taking the first road trip out of town with my friends, we stopped by to grab some breakfast biscuits (apparently, that’s a southern thing to have?) for the drive there.

Long story short, I love food more than people.

Just kidding (but, like not), I just mean to say that this burger joint holds a special place in my heart because I can only correlate good memories to that orange and white ‘W’.

Can you guess what I had for dinner after the movie tonight?

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