A black couple sat down next to me.  The woman had large sagging tits and a perpetual "wha' child?" facial expression.  The man was tall and skinny, dressed in slacks, collared shirt and pork pie hat. 

He looked sleepy.

There was a suitcase between them, the kind typically reserved for long european vacations, with handle and wheels.

The woman pulled out a translucent garment bag and unzipped the seam.  Preserved inside was a vibrant purple snuggie with peace signs printed all over.

"Television is winning the war on drugs."--I thought.

The garment bag was folded and placed on the chair, like a sanitary napkin.  She then sat down again and wrapped herself with the snuggie.

The man fished his hand in the suitcase for several minutes, then pulled out a shopping bag.  He looked at the woman.

"How many choo' want?"

"Huh-uh, lemme think... Jus one."

Two pieces of white bread stacked on one another appeared in his hand.  A slice of processed cheese placed on top, still in the wrapper.

The bread and cheese was offered towards the woman, palm up.

She didn't say anything.

The hand started waving side to side.

"How many?"


The hand waved back and forth aggressively now.

"Woman, how many!"

"Oh, shoo, ya' know.  Jus one."

The man felt satisfied.  He unwrapped the cheese.

A greasy round piece of pink was added to complete the sandwich.

No mustard or mayonnaise.

Nothing fancy.

Just the same chemicals compiled differently.


He handed the woman the sandwich, then made his own.

She took a bite.


"Mmmmm... yes."

They nodded in unison, not at each other, but at their respective food.

I suddenly felt nostalgic for my youth.

And debated climbing inside the suitcase to sleep for a very long time.

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