i walk into a subway restaurant last night.

there was a middle-aged woman that looked like she might smoke meth standing in line before me. i found out later that she was waiting for her three little miracles to get there. they were next door at the blockbuster renting tony hawk 2007 and "puff, puff, pass".

there was one guy behind the counter and he was wearing a black leather AC/DC hat on backwards. He went ahead and took my order.

I don't know why, but i ordered a footlong meatball marinara. i haven't had one since college and that was only because i had an italian roommate.

anyways....

he starts to make my sandwich and i say, "You guys sure keep it cold in here."

and he responds, "Yeah, but you don't want the guy making your sandwich to be all sweaty".

"good point", i said.

he then begins to search for meatballs but only finds four and decides to just start pouring sauce on the remainder of my sandwich.

"There's only four meatballs on there", i point out.

"i know, do you want another sandwich?"

"uh, yeah."

it was at this point that the crackhead's three little sea urchins come barrelling in. the guy behind the counter tells me that she was here first and needs to get her order. they order six fucking sandwiches.

i walk the fuck out.

i don't know why i told this story.

as a matter a fact, it didn't really happen that way.

i made most of it up.

except the part about going to subway,

scott