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We walked out of the building and into the light summer rain. I stayed slightly behind him, letting him lead the way – I was still getting used to being downtown. He was wearing his signatures, as always: a plaid shirt –  today’s blue and green – and his photochromic(more)
At the deli I contemplate my order. It seems of utmost importance that I get it just right, that my decision is inclusive and satisfying and it seems that whether I choose turkey or ham, mustard or mayo, tomato or lettuce will determine how well I know myself, how(more)
"What will you have?"  The man asked behind the counter.  He rubbed his hands against an old, ragged white towel that had seen better days.  His brown, tired eyes shifted to me before addressing the customer ahead of me.  
at the deli cured
meat pickled salads pasta
italians shouting