Egg Sandwich with a side of despair.

contributing writer John Whitley

Tim was up. He looked at me with an evil smile. Like the clown in "It." He promised happy things. Those things that are rarely delivered. He shouted. "You've gotta try my egg sandwich." He looked at me like a dealer who just found a new client. It took a few moments and then there it was.

I stared at the plate. The sandwich laid before me. To describe it is like trying to describe the color blue to a blind person. But I will try. It consisted of 2 pieces of bacon, processed american cheese, 2 eggs (1 broke and another with the yolk still intact) wrapped in a cocoon of 2 pieces of buttered toast. I stared at it for a brief moment and was ready to devour it. But I wanted to delay the satisfaction. I got up and put on Sinatra. This moment required Sinatra. As moments of perception and profundity often do. The bittersweet, melancholy tones emanated from my ipod. I sat back down and began eating this, dare I say it, piece of art. The feelings that the first bite brought up in me were profound and hurtful.

With that first bite, I was reminded of all of my life's disappointments. With just the first bite, I knew I was never going to eat a better egg sandwich. This filled me with nostalgia for something that was happening in the present. I started thinking about how life is but a fleeting moment. And just like this egg sandwich it was going to be over sooner than I would like.

The second bite, Sinatra's "A Man Alone" played in the background. I loved this egg sandwich. Sure it provided me with a moment of happiness, but realizing that you are happy for something that is inevitably going to be gone is a pretty tough thing to swallow. Although this sandwich sure wasn't! Memories of lost loves and lost weekends drifted across my palate as that third bite went down. I couldn't get over my anger. Here I am in NYC with a sandwich that is unequaled in the history of earth. And I couldnt enjoy it. All I could think about is how quickly it was going to be over. And there wasnt a damn thing I could do to stop it.

The last bite sat on the plate mocking me. My futile existence. Because I knew the sandwich was just teasing me. It wasn't here to stay. It wasn't going to sit on a table, unmolested, steaming of unconditional love. No. This sandwich was going to devour me.

I'm pretty sure that Frank had it right. I'd rather have it all or nothing at all.