We stroll into our seats at the wooden booth hungry.
Wanda, the waitress, walks over and ask for our drinks. “Water”—
“Dr. Pepper”—“Mt. Dew”—“Bud Light.”

At the buffet, I branch for the broccoli as Logan reaches for the oranges.
I grab three cheese slices while Austin’s lactose intolerance keeps him away.
I scoop spaghetti and a salad as Jackson fixates on fettuccine and fries.
  
Smells sail from our food to our noses.
We pile back into the booth,
but before we feast, Wanda brings our drinks.

At the booth, I begin with a spicy side as Logan cuts into his entree.  
My mouth fills with fire while Austin bites his second wing.
I devour spaghetti as Jackson pokes his plate of fettuccine.

Different foods, same result: “full”—“stuffed”—“done”—“no more.”
Wanda passes through one last time with the check.
We climb out of the wooden booth satisfied.