Imagine the scene: driving through the inky dark of night, nearing the end of a cross country-road trip, and sadly assuming that you've seen the last WhataBurger you'll see for years when you left Texas. Then, miraculously, that bright Orange and White striped roof materializes through your windshield in front of you. Your girlfriend (at the time) and you let out twin war whoops, you pull over and order a Jalapeno Burger and fries even though it's nearing midnight and you've already eaten a real dinner just a few hours before. You even order an extra burger for your roommate waiting back home in LA, knowing he will probably not be interested in a cold burger that's been sitting in a car for four hours. But you wrap it up and take it home with you anyway, because you're a good friend.
This WhataBurger in Arizona was the last one I'd ever visited, and I may be overly sentimental about it. But I dream of those Orange and White Stripes, dream of returning there one day, dream of the spicy bite of the Jalapeno Burger. I dream of the infinite.