“Hand it over, now!”

George’s eyes drifted from his triple stacker double Swiss, double pickle, light mayo on toasted rye to a tremble-handed gunman.

“I’m sorry, young man, this is my lunch.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your sandwich!” He batted the savory stack to the ground. “Wallet. Phone. Keys. We don’t have all day, OLD MAN.”

George sat a moment, pondering the flaps of Swiss being accosted by a rather plump pigeon.

“You really shouldn’t have done that, kid.”

——-

George found himself considering his life. It wasn’t a particularly bad life. Not a particularly good life either. He thought about his time at war with Shaun -Shaun made the best triple stacker double Swiss, double pickle, light mayo on toasted rye. These damned delis have never got it quite right.

He considered his time with his wife. She was a lovely woman. Far too good for him. She knew it too. Always nagging him about the list. Her incessant lists… He kind of missed them. He missed her.

“Did I leave the oven on…” his thoughts wandering. “No, wait, I was just about to-“

—-

George’s body lay motionless. Pigeons scattered, a woman screamed, a child was crying. A man with a stolen gun was seven dollars and forty-three cents richer. George didn’t carry a cell phone. Nor did he drive his car to the park.

“Shame to spend all day yapping to a little rectangle when there’s real people just outside.” -George

“Shame to waste a good day stuffed in a tin box.” -George

|Rest in Peace George - taken too soon, gone to rest with his beloved wife|