Two: Mario, Luigi, Dracula and a Witch walk into McDonalds
The streets of London over Halloween weekend were comprised of a collage of faces: masked, painted, and plain. The people of that cold October night were a pick ‘n’ mix bag of characters; the extravagant and the ordinary, party-goers and professionals, the drunk and the drained, all trying to get out of the rain. Through the blur of lights and drizzle, one shop stood out. Its golden sign and starkly lit interior beckoned street stragglers to seek warmth within. My friends and I, like many others, were unable to resist the siren’s call of the glowing arches. McDonald’s.
The air inside was thick with the smell of hot oil and damp clothes. Steam crept up the windows smudging the outside world across the glass. The chaos of late-night orders and ticket calling was heightened by the peculiar mix of costumed customers. We snaked our way through monsters and movie characters to find an ordering screen before shuffling aside and waiting impatiently for our midnight meal of salty chips and hot apple pie. In front of us, at a small round table, sat Mario and Luigi. After a long day of racing on Rainbow Road, maneuvering around banana skins, and launching green shells at their opponents, a trip to Mackie’s was well deserved. They sat in their bright red and green overalls dipping crumb-coated nuggets into tiny pots of ketchup. Giggling between mouthfuls, the pair slowly made their way through the box of nuggets. They licked the grease from their fingertips and stumbled out of the room and into the street where they became mere smudges of green and red behind the glass.
‘Number 82!’ illustration by Rosa Picard
Across the room Dracula leaned elegantly against the wall, his long black cloak hanging smoothly over his shoulders. His hair was slicked back and shined artificially black under the light. His gaze was downcast, eyes glued to a phone screen. Its glare beamed upwards, illuminating his face, and emphasizing the white paint smeared across it. He appeared to be alone, as I imagine Dracula often is, silent and unphased by the strangeness of the scene around him.
Suddenly, a cackle erupted from the shop front. The Wicked Witch of the West strode through the door. Behind her followed the Lion, the Tin Man, Dorothy, and a boy with a yellow card sign hanging from his neck which read ‘BRICK ROAD’ in bold letters. The Scarecrow and Glenda were nowhere to be seen. It seemed odd to see the group laughing and embracing each other as though the Witch hadn’t tried on several occasions to kill Dorothy, or indeed that Dorothy had no intentions of murdering the Witch. Maybe for tonight, they had decided to leave old quarrels behind them and instead enjoy each other’s company over an assortment of flavoured McFlurrys.
“Number 82!”
Our order was called, and we hurriedly collected the large paper bag from the countertop. We huddled together, bracing the cold and the rain that met us as we left the shop, and we too became smudges in the night. We headed for the bus that would take us home to the warmth and comfort of our own beds, leaving behind the curious cauldron of people that was the McDonald’s on Charing Cross Road.
