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Personal Narrative: The Roman Empire

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My hands shake as I take the wheel, desperately trying to force the key into the ignition. I scratch the metal once, twice, before it finally catches, and the engine comes alive. It coughs out a gravelly sputter, and I click my seat belt into place. I peel out of the driveway, my empty stomach jostled by the bumpy curb, and speed onto the otherwise calm street. I have never been one for the rules, so at a pace far above the legal limit, I head for the haven I know will give the sustenance I need. My stomach lets out another rumbling growl, and my mind flies back to the dinner I know I should have eaten. I remember my mother having set the table, my spot right next to hers, and my father’s across from mine. It was how we ate every night, and how I would have eaten if it wasn’t for the fact that my final grade in history relied on a test about the Roman Empire. The food was laid out in the center of the table, a succulent platter of pork with steaming corn sitting next …show more content…

I slide into the uncomfortable white and red seat and open the bag like a kid on Christmas morning. For a moment I savor the smell of the grease and meat, before reaching in the bag and grasping the burger. I lift the food to my mouth, relishing the springy bun and firmness of the titanic sandwich, before digging in. Just as I had imagined, the grease drips down my chin and threatens to fall on my faded Nirvana shirt, but now is no time for napkins. I finish chewing and swallow in record time, barely breathing as I eat. Another bite makes its way into my mouth, and while I chew, I set down my sandwich and pull my favorite part of the meal out of the bag. The fries. The red and yellow box smiles at me as I set it down on the table. Tenderly, I pick up a limp fry and take a bite, my eyes closing as the potato and oil hit my tongue. The salt sticks to my fingers, the crystals shining in the light. I am finally

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