Dear Gyro Man Running a Sandwich Stand At 4 In the Morning In The Middle of the Financial District,
Why are you here? These streets are deserted. No one is buying gyros at this time of the night. Well, except for me. However, I am not entirely certain how I got here, only that some unintelligible garbled nonsense was spewed at me by the subway conductor before I was booted out of my seat, on the wrong island and fairly confused. So you can't really point to me and say "I am here to serve gentlemen like yourself, sir!" Because, seriously, there was no reason to expect I'd show up. That I am here is a total anomaly. Oh, I'll buy one of your sandwiches. And I'll enjoy it. And then after stumbling through the deserted alleys of the Financial District for 30 minutes, covered in white sauce and hot sauce, I will realize that there is no way I am walking home across the bridge, and, after all that hemming and hawing, will hop a cab anyway.
Why are you here, oh sandwich man? Why are you here?
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