The other day, I bought two chicken sandwiches – a childhood favorite – having been talked into a two-for-one deal by the cashier. Ate one for lunch; saved the other for later.
On my way home I phoned my sister, excitedly reliving my lunchtime bonanza for her. She recalled clipping coupons back in the day – two chicken sandwiches for $1. We agreed that after all these years, though the sandwiches were smaller than we remembered, and tasted different – probably all that filler, she sighed – they were nonetheless a standup choice. Then Sandwich No. 2 and I hopped on a Manhattan-bound N train.
A homeless gentleman entered my car and quietly began his spiel. When he passed me, I asked if he was hungry and he said yes. I fished Sandwich No. 2 out of my bag and handed it to him. He took one look and announced:
“Ooh, a chicken sandwich, right?”