The cashier hears the man from the Mideast say “Boorgher.”

In the cashier’s mind a speculative history of the Mideast man builds. The man has heard of American hamburgers since early youth. At last, in this American airport, he has an opportunity to try one.

“Sir, we have three types of burgers. A regular cheeseburger is the most popular.”

“Okay.”

“Is that what you want, sir?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of cheese would you like on your burger? We have American, Swiss, Cheddar and Provolone.”

“Okay.”

Since the line behind him is long, the cashier decides for the man and puts him down for American. He also does not suggest-sell avocado, nor a side of fries, macaroni salad or cole slaw.

“Would you like something to drink to go with your burger, sir?”

“Heh?”

The cashier points at the soda fountain, makes a taking-a-drink gesture, and says, “Want drink?”

The mideastern man nods.

The cashier rings him up. “Your number is Two One Two, sir. We’ll call you when your order is ready.”

Later the cashier sees the man striding with purpose to the eating area, bagged meal in hand. He sits and unwraps his cheeseburger and looks under the bun. He takes a bite, chews thoroughly, swallows. “Aaa,” he says, then rises and walks away with his fountain drink, leaving behind the burger with its one clean bite-me taken out of it.