Spot Number Two

"Welcome to Wendy's, what can I get for you today?"

"Just a chocolate Frosty, please," Arthur replied, leaning out his car window.

"That'll be $2.49 at the first window."

Arthur pulled forward, handed over a crisp three-dollar bill, and took his change. But at the handoff window, the young worker offered a polite, practiced smile instead of a cold treat. "We're actually spinning up a fresh batch right now, sir. Could you pull around into spot number two? We’ll bring it right out to you in just a couple of minutes."

"No problem," Arthur said. He threw the car into drive, glided into parking spot number two, and put the transmission in park. He adjusted his rearview mirror, checked his watch, and rested his hands on the steering wheel.

A minute passed. Then two. Arthur looked over his shoulder. The drive-thru line cleared. The lunch rush faded into the quiet hum of mid-afternoon.

Sunlight began to shift across his dashboard. The golden hour struck, casting long shadows across the asphalt, before night fell over the parking lot. The neon Wendy's sign buzzed to life, flickered, and eventually shut down as the last employee locked the doors and drove home. Arthur sat, patient, grounded in the unshakeable belief that good things come to those who wait.

Days bled into months. Rain streaked down the windshield; autumn leaves gathered in the wipers, turned to dust, and were replaced by heavy winter snow. Spring bloomed, then faded back to summer. The yellowing paint on the parking lines flaked away into the breeze.

Decades rolled past like a high-speed reel. The Wendy's building slowly gave way to time—its roof sagging, its iconic sign collapsing into weeds, its glass windows shattering under the weight of decades of hail and wind. The asphalt cracked open, allowing vibrant green saplings to push through, growing into towering, ancient trees that shaded the rusted shell of Arthur’s sedan.

Centuries sped by in a blur of lightning, snowstorms, and blinding sunshine. Civilizations rose and fell on the horizon. The highway nearby faded into a carpet of forest. The car's tires rotted into dirt; the upholstery frayed away to reveal rusted metal springs. Inside, sitting upright with hands still rested dutifully at ten and two on the skeletal rim of the steering wheel, Arthur’s body surrendered to the earth, leaving behind a polished, gleaming skeleton.

One thousand years passed.

The sun broke through the dense canopy of an ancient woodland where a fast-food empire once stood. Somewhere in the deep silence of time, the wind rustled through the vines creeping over the rusted driver-side door.

Inside, the skeleton sat perfectly still. Patient. Undeterred.

They were still bringing the Frosty out.