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Hilda and Simeon put a piece of cardboard over the first drive-thru window and boink in the back of the Burger King. The scent of hot oil nearby lends excitement; their vigor pops the change drawer open. The manager notices, but he’s currently at the front counter, beatifically pooping his pants.

Out in the restaurant proper, the customers are following one suit or the other, except the lady who’s called up her mother to explicate twenty years of resentment.

At the counter, Titania puts face to hands. “I just wanted a stupid Whopper Junior,” she groans.

“No you didn’t,” says Mustardseed.