The Crossroads

The plumber had never seen such a mess in a bathroom.

He uncoiled his motorized snake and worked the long, flexible wire down into the toilet. He flipped the power switch and the steel cable rooted its way farther down the drain. It spun and ground and churned. A minute later, he felt the far end hit something. The clog.

“Bingo! Got it!”

The cable cut through whatever wad of muck was blocking the sewer line, and the toilet bowl sucked itself dry.

That’s when the plumber smelled something. Not sewer gas. Something oily and minty.

Like Brylcreem. Billy had tried that goop once. When he was a kid, Mee Maw had slicked down his hair with the stuff on the day he’d posed for his sixth-grade class picture, the same day his name went from Billy O’Claire to Billy O’Greasy Hair.

He’d never forget that smell—like someone had rubbed his head with a peppermint stick made out of Crisco.

All of a sudden, Billy had an incredible craving for a big juicy burger. Plus a side of fries. And a chocolate milk shake. Maybe two or three of each.

Billy dropped his sewer rooter with a clunk and a thud on the tile floor. He didn’t bother packing up his wrenches. He’d come back later for his tools.

Right now he had to have a hamburger.

He walked out of the bathroom like a zombie. A very hungry, burger-crazed zombie.

And then—just as suddenly—the urge passed.

Good, he thought. I’ve always been more of a nachos kind of guy.