Travelling to Boston with a “poulet roti”…


…served on white bread accompanied by vegetables and a Cesar’s dressing, well, that’s what the package said at the airport where a foolish appetite came over me and made me buy (and eat) a sandwich. It was a brutal act going against my fierce conviction never to buy any sandwiches or other food at gas stations, airports, street stalls. But I still did it, thinking about human imperfection while chewing on the dry morsel packaged three days before and best before another day or so.

Fast food is a weird phenomenon, isn’t it? In my own life, it’s a brother of drinking too much every now and then or smoking cigarettes. It’s about moves to harm yourself voluntarily from time to time, only God knows why. Guess it’s a relict of the old caveman in us who doesn’t want to be correct and decent, aware and ecological all the time. Anyway, the sandwich was terrible. Better things to come in Boston where the food is said to be excellent.

A caveman's feast: airport sandwich without a cause.

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