Me, Myself, and Sub-Ingredients. Irene ran away.

I'm sitting at the Subz. The air inside is surprisingly cool and refreshing, a mountain spring amidst a see of industrialized plastic water bottles. The roach problem is all but gone; the stray leg still remains among the black olives. I am STILL angry over the Kay Jeweler's commercial. If I ever become wealthy enough I will open my own store called "E" and use the EXACT same advertising slogan. The door to the shop opens and a man walks in. He looks pretty ordinary, which in this town is extremely unordinary. 

"How may I help you sir?" I ask with feigned interest, almost as if I really cared about how I could help him. 

"I want a sub." He replied. I refrain from calling him out on his brilliant statement of the obvious. 

"What kind would you like sir?" He tells me. I make it for him. I wrap it for him. He pays for it. He leaves. 

I look around fondly at my world of meats, vegetables, condiments, and breads. I realize that even though I utterly despise the mundaneness of my job, this store is still a part of me. When I run away in a few days, I will miss it. And I'll REALLY miss all the free food. 

My eyes drift lazily towards each other. My heads lolls towards my chest. I don't even know if "lolls" is a word. If it isn't, it should be. Before I know it, I am in a deep sleep, a calm sleep, one that is usually reserved for babies, and teenagers on the weekend. As I sleep, I dream. I dream that I am walking through a field of marshmellows in my flip-flops. A man rushes towards me and starts yelling, but his words are all jumbled and I can't understand what he was saying. My dad was there, but he didn't LOOK like my dad, and that was freaking me out. I walk up to a revolving door at the end of the marshmellow field. A sign next to the door reads "pull on it". I pull on it. I am an idiot.