Yeah, right. Well, if he's not mad, then he should just order a goddamn burger.

"I'm going to!"

"Going to what?"

"Order a burger. A goddamn burger, as you put it." You start to believe that he is indeed, a psychic. Or at the very least, he can just figure out what you're thinking. Interestingly, the revelation that this freak can read your mind doesn't really frighten you. You have a very readable face; in fact, you once thought that if your face was comprised of only simple shapes and a mouth, Helen Keller could read your expression. You instead find yourself annoyed at this kid for wasting your time.

Then DO IT ALREADY. Don't psychics have better places to be?

"Sorry, yeah, you're right. I just find what people say versus what they think really funny. One Bigger M Burger, please."

Okay. Side?

"Mashed potatoes."

Drink?

"Could I have a medium chocolate shake instead?"

Sure, it's a dollar twenty extra.

"Yeah, that's fine."

Okay. ... That's a Bigger M Burger meal with a medium-sized shake and mashed potatoes. Anything else?

"Nope."

Your total is $12.22.

"Wow, that's a lot. Does that come with fries?"

Yeah, a medium-sized fries.

"Okay then." He pulls out his phone from his butt pocket and taps it on the card reader. It accepts. You are a little surprised; you figured that he would trick you or something. You don't know, psychics are like, magicians, right?

"We're... kind of like magicians."

Does it pay well?

"It can." Fuck this guy and his roundabout way of speaking.

>BE PUSHY. Are you satisfied?
>GO AWAY. Also, could you, like, stand over there? Like way over there.
>INQUIRE MORE. Does being psychic get you bitches?
>IGNORE HIM. Oh dude, you have GOT to see this dude's ankle. Grossest thing I've ever seen.
>WRITE-IN.