Published: 2025-10-30

Felipe was glad to find four walls and a roof to protect him from the night rain. Biking to and from work has its disadvantages after all. The smell of grease and the constant chattering of the people made him realize he had entered a McDonald’s. When was the last time that Felipe visited a McDonald’s? Maybe when he was a kid, his father would take him and his siblings after her mother had told them for the thousandth time. His brother and sister were big enough to play in the playground, but he had to stay with his parents and sit through his father’s speech about how capitalism kept exploiting animals and serving genetically modified carcasses to gullible people.

“Now, fruit, that’s the true fast food.” His father would say.

Felipe didn’t understand his father’s ramblings, not that he actually paid attention to them. The toy in his Happy Meal was too shiny to ignore.

As the memories of a troubled childhood raced through his head, his stomach rumbled. Felipe looked through the picture window, water kept pouring down.

“I might as well grab something to eat now.” He thought.

A line formed behind the cash register; maybe other rain refugees had thought the same as Felipe. Felipe looked at the menu boards that hung over the cashier’s head. The red wall titles made the black menus with white typeface stand out. Much had changed since Felipe was a kid; for once, kids' meals didn’t come in a paper bag anymore. The many available options left him paralyzed: iced tea, orange juice, cola, and even beer. His stomach rumbled again.

“Why am I looking at beverages when I’m hungry?” He thought.

The line moved; it still rained outside.

Between his childhood, his rumbling stomach, the menu boards, and the rain, Felipe’s mind started wandering. It wasn’t until the cashier called him for the third time that he came back to his senses.

“Next!” The cashier said.

He approached the register.

“Welcome to McDonald’s, may I take your order?”

Felipe took a glance at the menu boards once more.

“I’d like a—”

The front door was slammed violently, and the sound of trampling boots followed. The cashier got startled, she took a few steps backward.

“Don’t move!” Someone shouted from the door.

The cashier raised her hands. Felipe turned around. A group of men wearing all black and carrying rifles had entered the premises. Felipe raised his hands as the shaking of his knees made it impossible for him to stand straight. Some of the people who sat at the tables raised their hands, others put their hands behind their heads, and interlocked their fingers. A woman sat with her 5-year-old daughter, who cried uncontrollably.

“Please, don’t hurt us. You can take my purse, but don’t harm my daughter.”

One of the armed men looked at her as she spoke. He seemed to be the leader, since he walked around the place while the others stood motionless, with their arms ready. He let a chuckle out.

“You hide between these four greasy walls, poisoning your bodies, making the rich richer while the immigrant sweating all over your burgers makes a couple of cents the hour, feeding the beast…”

The woman looked at him, her arms still in the air, her mouth twitching, tears had started to form in her eyes.

“We don’t want your filthy money,” he continued, “but fret not, we are here to liberate you, not to harm you in any way, shape, or form.”

People feared the worst; some broke down into tears.

The leader of the men gave a signal, and they started to trash the place. They kicked tables and knocked over trash cans. One of them jumped over the counter, threw buns and patties to the floor, stomping them while singing Jingle Bells. Another entered the restroom, destroyed the washbasin, and opened fire at the toilets. People covered their ears and ducked their heads while screaming. It was terrifying.

Felipe, still frozen in place, had urinated himself. His breathing had become agitated, a high-pitched sound rang in his ears, he wanted to scream, but he had lost his voice.

“They’re gonna kill us. They’re gonna kill us all.” He kept thinking.

The leader of the men clapped three times as to attract the attention of the group.

“That’s enough, guys, we’re done here. Let’s go.”

The men stopped their destruction spree and got together next to the door.

“Let’s this be a lesson that capitalism doesn’t pay.”

“Capitalism,” Felipe thought, “it had been years since I last heard that word.”

“Call the police when we are gone, tell them we are doing God’s work.” As the men turned to the door, the cashier reached for a button under the counter. The sound of an emergency alarm blasted through the speakers in the ceiling. The men turned around, one of them opened fire. The cashier covered her mouth with both hands, people let a symphony of screams escape from their mouths, Felipe’s body precipitated to the floor. The last thing he saw was the group of men escaping the fast-food restaurant.

The voice of news anchor Lorenzo López came out of the TV:

“The recent events at New Town’s McDonald’s are a reminder of the climate of racial violence our country lives in and that the presence of paramilitary groups threatens not only the peace, but the mere existence of our nation. Felipe González was the only man, the only person killed in this horrible incident, many still insist on calling an ‘incident’. Don’t let the current narrative confuse you; this was no incident. Felipe González was targeted and murdered in the presence of twenty other people because he was black, and the biggest proof is that these so-called kidnappers didn’t take anything of value with them, not from McDonald’s, not from those present. Who will respond for our lost brother? Because—”

The man stood up; the PA had just announced that the next bus would be departing shortly. He took a last look at the TV and said:

“This country has gone crazy.”

THE END.