Jason Josef Buchanan

The Burrito

This food I crave, there is little else to live for. And now it has its own website. And another.

The best burrito in the nation, where is it? What is its name? Who are its parents? More importantly, what does it dream of? Does it ponder the meaning of its own existence? Is it self aware? Does it contemplate its own role in theis cosmic game, this dance of the universe?

What would this burrito say to me at eighty? Did it live a good life? did it accomplish everything that it wanted? What would this burrito say to its younger self and does it throw tantrums and skip its morning pages? Does it suppress some childhood hurt by censoring thoughts and feelings? What is at its core? Does it hurt? Who does a burrito cry out to in the dark?

I swear I will find the best burrito in the nation. I have already found the best in the city. I have conquered one geographic challenge, the city and county of San Francisco. Next I will conquer the great state of California, the seventh greatest economic power in the world. And after California, I will find the best burrito in all of the greatest superpower nation to have ever risen and been crushed under the weight of its own stupidity and greed.

I will leave no stone unturned, no village uninsulted, and no little old woman without offense, until I find the best burrito that can be made and bought in this world of men. And once I have shook the hand of the man that can make such a thing, then I will rest.