You pull into the car park. Always a bit of a gamble, that car park. Is it full? Of course it is. It’s a KFC on a major road—it’s basically a law of the universe.
But you find a spot. Miracle! You walk in, and that smell hits you. You know the one: fried chicken, grease, and pure, unapologetic comfort.
The queue? It’s a game of chicken (pun intended). You stand there, staring at the menu, pretending you haven’t already decided on a Zinger meal. We both know you have.
