An Old Man’s Homage to Taco Bell

I suffer a mild form of seasonal affective disorder, aptly shortened to SAD. When the Oregon winter rain has been falling for three straight weeks and I no longer remember what the sun looks like, I ingest chemicals to lift my mood. Thirty years ago I would have dropped in to the local dive bar, or rolled myself a doobie. Those options are closed to me these days, so I go to my only remaining option for a mood-lifting pick-me-up: Taco Bell. I love fast food. I always have. The nutrition and health folks in my life have convinced me not to eat it often, but they will never convince me to stop loving it. Although it comes in a thousand different forms, all fast food tastes pretty much the same. That taste is what makes it fast food. Whether it be burgers, tacos, subs, fried chicken or something not yet invented, it is instantly recognizable as fast food, and I love it. <a href="https://medium.com/crows-feet/an-old-mans-homage-to-taco-bell-2a3ec7f0afb9">Click Here</a>