Thought Catalog

Subway — Everything seems clean, but it is not clean. The employees mask their hands anew all through the hour in thin fresh plastic shaped like someone’s larger, fatter hands. I love the stickers on the sneeze glass. I love that I am not allowed to breathe on what I will soon be, the mayonnaise I never ask for. I love the constant feeling I’ve just removed a winter coat. But where is Jared? The room is full of Jared. I keep hoping he’ll come stumbling from the back, drunk on meat and triangle cheeses, raising up his arms. I hope being buried feels like how they pack the combo sandwich, chips, and napkins into the plastic sock. I want to be Subway for Halloween on every day but Halloween. I love the plastic of the everflowing self-serve drink cup and the lid. Yes, I want cookies. If you stay too long inside a Subway you will adhere to the ground.