I, Obbop, the Disgruntled Old Coot, rarely eat via the drive-through routine nor at any locale outside my humble hovel, my shanty upon the Ozark Plateau amidst the squalor of the horde of uncivil and anti-social human herd hereabouts.
When I did motor through the drive-through to grab a burger, etc. fast-food joint I nearly always grabbed some oh-so-fattening french fries, especially in winter when the birds found it harder to find food.
Notice the sparrows that often flock to cars parked near a fast-food joint, hopping around and gazing quizzically at the vehicle's occupants, apparently attempting to communicate, "Hey, fella, where's my french fry?"
Well, since my thoughts during ordering included our feathered friends, I had fries to toss that were eagerly grabbed and consumed.
I just hope that as I age further and with the economy sure to grow ever worse and my descent into the true elderly state likely to propel me to dumpster diving and begging for food money, perhaps some kind-hearted in-auto diners will toss me a few much-appreciated french fries.