Those who drunkenly stuff sandwich meat in their mouths at 2 in the morning.
Those are some heroes right there.
Braving the harsh glow of the refrigerator, courageously opening the in-the-moment complexly-sealed plastic container, navigating the obtuse geometry of folded meat slices through a drunken mouth – these are the warriors in the shadows.
And by God, I boldly step out of those shadows to join my brothers and sisters in (probably flabby) arms.
Because sometimes sandwiches are just too hard to deal with, an Everest to a body barely capable of a mole hill, and I’ll unashamedly have a deli mustard chaser with my shot of ham-sandwich meat, thank you very much.