The Publisher

Chapter 4 ֍ McDonald's past Midnight

Later that night, after the party had begun to die down and most of the people had gone home, Times Square was full of tons of confetti. There were still some people left, but being around one or two o'clock, not many. The girl who had given The Publisher the New Year's stuff had invited him to a nearby restaurant on Times Square. I don't know if this place was super popular among the people of New York, or because it was just New Year's, but it was pretty crowded.

The crowded resturant was apparently called McDonald's, and the girl and Publisher had managed to order a couple fries and found a seat for two to wait for their number to be called. The girl wore a purple shirt that said, "2016" on it in glittering pink, blue jeans, and pink & purple bead necklaces. "My name's Emane, by the way." She said, "What's yours?"

"Huh?" The Publisher was looking out the window at his phone booth across the road, but was distracted by some of the vibrant ads on the walls of the skyscrapers outside. "Oh, nice to meet you Emane. I'm called The Publisher." "The Publisher?" She repeated his name. "Yes," he replied. Emane wore a look on her face that said, "Really?" He didn't say anything else. When it was clear that he was being sincere, she threw her hands up and sat back in her chair. "Okay then, Mister 'Publisher,' how 'bout I just call you Pub." "What?" The Publisher said, "No, just The Publisher."

"Whatever you say, Pub," she said. "So what're you planning to do this year?" "Huh?" He was watching the people walking past the phone booth across the road. "You know," Emane continued. "Your New Year's resolutions." "I think it's a little too early for revolutions." "Well, I'm planning to lose a ton of weight this year," Emane said. "You know, they just opened up a new gym somewhere." "Huh?" The Pub was watching a man near his phone booth. "You seem distracted," Emane said, "Anyway, their commercials say it's only like ten dollars a month!"

Emane then began rambling about how her sister went to a gym and lots of other random stuff. The Publisher soon realized that she was just talking about New Year's resolutions, a classic tradition on Earth. He remembered that the next American Revolution wasn't due for another century or so when he noticed that the man he was observing had approached his disguised ship. The man was trying to open the door, probably wanting to make a phone call. The man couldn't open the doors, though. It was locked, and nothing could get inside without the proper key. The guy tugged and pulled, but it was no use. Eventually he gave up and angrily walked away.

The Publisher smiled at the thought that nothing could ever get in his phone booth. Emane was still talking, but He Publisher was only half listening until she said, "How long does it take to make a couple fries?" "Huh?" Emane said, "What on Earth are you staring at?" She turned from looking at the busy front counter to The Publisher, then to the empty phone booth. The Publisher said, "Nothing!" Not convinced, she said, "What is it about that phone booth that is more interesting about a conversation about Christmas?"

The Publisher thought about this one. Christmas... Christmas... "Hey!" Emane crashed his train of thought. "Isn't that the same phone booth I first saw you at?" "Heh! Nooo!" He laughed at this accusation. "There's a lot of phone booths in New York." "Not in Times Square, there aren't," she said. The Publisher froze, then said, "Well, it's getting pretty late. I guess I'd better..." "Now wait a sec!" Emane interrupted. "Yep!" Pub interrupted, "Gotta go and get back to the, uh, house and get to bed." He stood up and pretended to yawn when an announcer shouted, "Number 152!" Their order was next. Emane said, "But you don't even look tired!" "No, but you do," said Pub. "I shouldn't keep you waiting to get home" "It's really no problem," "Number 153!" The announcer announced. "And you haven't even gotten to eat your French fries!"

Whatever these "French Fries" were, they sure seemed to be a popular food here. It was a tempting invitation, but he felt that he had to go before this nice girl learned anything about him. She had spent the entire conversion talking about her family after all. What if she asked about his past? "Look," Emane said, getting up from her seat, "I'll go and get the fries. I'll even pay them. Be right back." She left years the counter and got the fries.

Emane came back with the red plastic tray with a couple cardboard pockets of French fries, but The Publisher was no longer there.