I want a hot dog.
The hot dog should be speared upon a stick I have found in the woods and sharpened with an imitation Swiss Army Knife.
The hot dog should be cooked over a roaring campfire that took a long time to get started but once we found that pile of driftwood is really burning now mister.
The hot dog should have just enough burnt bits and split bits which is a different amount for everyone but you know what it is when you see it.
The hot dog should be placed on a bun which is soft and battered from being inside the box with all the food in the hot car for the whole hot day.
The hot dog should be slathered with mustard which is yellow and plain and stains the white t-shirt that you shouldn’t really be wearing because you are eating hot dogs with mustard but you really really don’t care right now because you are eating hot dogs with mustard right now.
And then I should eat it.
And then I should do it again, eleven times again.
Some may not make it to the bun.
Some may not even have mustard.
Some may be lost to the flames, withered and charred.
But I want them. I want them all.