The Ruben

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Four hours is a long time to wait. My car was being pimped in the garage. I had two fistfuls of waiting to be done so I set out for a wander into Southport. I hadn’t been there for a while.

I wore floral board-shorts. I imagined myself going for a swim in the broad-water but when I arrived it didn’t seem very appealing even after a 45 minute walk through the dry barrens of Nerang Road.

There were families everywhere and I felt extrinsic to the whole scene.

So I went back to a cafe I had passed on the way in. They had a Ruben sandwich on the menu. Thats, Corn beef, Russian dressing, Jarslberg cheese and sour kraut. Gently toasted bread.

All ingredients need to be at room temperature. Thats the secret to the perfect Ruben.

I couldn’t fucking wait. I’d been wanting this sandwich all my life.

Of course they’d just sold out.

There was a guy sitting there eating my sandwich. Sucking the mayonnaise of his fat fingers with a smug contentedness. That was meant for me.

That contentment.

Fucker.

I settled for a lesser sandwich and stepped back into the sun.

It hit me hard.

 

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