At around 12 noon everyday, you’ll find the postman at the Blimpies on the corner of 43rd and 2nd ave. This mysterious man has an aura about him which is very, nearly divine.. His countenance all at once recalls the tranquil Govinda with a hint of mushmouth from Fat Albert.. Yet there is some pain there too.. That much is plain.. He has the stature of a Robert Johnson, except he’s a postman… Perhaps he’s just biding time, like Bukowski.. Perhaps he’s the ‘black Bukowski’… Whoever he is, he is a formidable presence.. and he likes Blimpies… a lot…

Week 18

'He's you little boy!!??', I gasped..

'He's mah lil' baby boy'…

Willoughby turned away sharply to hide his emotion and sat wearily on the edge of his cot.. My heart filled with empathy.. I placed my hand gingerly on his shoulder to try and comfort the old man.. He pushed it away and sputtered, 'Just find mah baby boy… mah lil' baby boy..!!'

Immediately I sprang to action… 'Ok Willoughby, let's roll… We have to get out to Jersey City before they move him again.. '.. Willoughby wiped away a tear, and hopped off the cot with surprising agility for a man his age… The schnauzer took the lead and we all headed off at a brisk pace..

Once Willoughby was behind the wheel, he took charge like a man possessed maneuvering through the city streets with mercury like fluidity… We cut through the mid-town traffic like a hot knife through butter, only occasionally hitting the odd pigeon, or old lady… We finally hit the tunnel, and were on our way to the land of stench…

As soon as we hit the city limits my eyes started to water… The poor bearded beast had his head out the window, barking in pain.. The smell was unbearable.. We careened around the corners at blinding speeds finally arriving at the old warehouse on 9th street..

Willoughby screeched on the breaks, turned off the motor and we all sat still for a moment to catch our collective breath.. The blood was pounding in my head, but I heard a faint sound off in the distance, which to me vaguely sounded like someone hitting themselves in the head with a day old halibut, and moaning something about catalytic converters..

We all got out, and snuck up to the warehouse… As we got closer, the horrible noise got louder.. The place was completely dilapidated, it appeared to be constructed of moist cardboard and old glue.. All the windows were either cracked or blown out, and the odor was untenable… We creeped around to the back and found a window at the street level to peek through… Lo and behold there was indeed a solitary man, tied up to a chair beating himself over the head with what appeared to be a large fish… After each knock on the head he would moan, and ramble on about OJ Simpson, and how he had invented the boomerang.. It was a sad sight…

I boosted Willoughby through the window, and the cur and I followed suit…

'What are you doing here?', I barked at the fish man…

He looked up at us bleary eyed and manic… I repeated my request, kicking a leg of his chair for added effect… hoarsely he muttered, ' they left me here… '

'Who left you here?'
'The captain… Left me here all alone.. all alone…'

'Where's mah boy!!', Willoughby interjected furiously..

The fish man's head wobbled around as he mumbled to himself some gibberish about Hamiltonian philosophy…

'Where's the postman?', I snarled..

'You know the postman??', his eyes widened…

'Yes.. He's my guru, and this man's baby boy'

The fish man's face went white… 'they took him… they took him away… He was my friend, he would talk to me…'

'Where did they take him?', I was feeling the rage build up in my colon…

'They took him back to the ship… By this time they'll be on their way to South America.. you'll never catch them in time…'

It felt as if all the oxygen was sucked out of the room.. I felt faint… What were we to do now??.. At this low ebb, I felt a bony hand grip my shoulder.. it was Willoughby..

'Steady yourself boy.. we just have to go back to the docks.. we'll find a way to reach him'…

'Take me with you please!! He was my friend!!'…

'Who are you?? And how do you know the Postman… Why have they tied you up????'

The fish man looked up sheepishly and replied…

'I'm Michael Golden….'

Week 17

I hastily make my exit from Blimps with a twisting in my lower intestines so violent I fear I might fill up my slacks with a pungent excressence… I stumble down the streets, like a drunk man with the runs… My mind racing with a combination of fear and agony… Somehow I need to make it back to the apartment, but I'm not gonna make it…

All of a sudden , when I couldn't take another step, an old checker cab comes screeching 'round a corner and slides up right next to me…

'Hop in my man, you don't look all too well per se..'

An older gentleman, donning a colossal chapeau comprised of many fine bits of tweed and leather, breaks off a 1000 watt smile in my direction…

'Get in, get in…!'

I collapse in the back of the cab, my colon in spasms…

'Get me to 953 East 61st, please hurry…'

The cab lurches forward as sub sonic speeds, and soon we're zipping through the traffic with effortless grace… I notice the name of the driver is Willoughby… Interesting name.. It suits him well..

'Willoughby', I squeak.. 'I'm in a bad way Willoughby…'..

''Yeas.. Like I say, you don't look all too well per se..'

'Willoughby.. My best friend and mentor has been kidnapped by a nefarious bunch, and is now being held in Jersey city… I need to get to him.. I need to save him!!'

'Now, now.. don't go off half cocked.. You need a plan.. You look 98 pounds of goose shit stuffed in a cheap suit!'

'It's the Durango…'

'You need to get your wits about you.. collect em', sort em', get em' all organized.. then make your move..'

At this point, I pass out.. The last thing I remember is the smell of burning…

I awake in my bed.. The sun is blinding me… The schnauzer pulls the shade…

My head is filled with pop rocks and soda.. I get up slowly, trying to find my bearings… How did I get back? I make it to the kitchen and find my answer.. Willoughby sleeping in a neat cot in the corner..

'Willoughby! What are you doing here??.. Where'd you get that cot?'

'I always bring a spare cot, never know when it'll come in handy.. Still, that's not important right now.. We've got to get to Jersey City and rescue the Postman'..

'The Postman??... How do you know about the Postman??.. Who sent you??'

'Ain't no one sent me! .. The Postman is my little boy!'…

Week 16

I head back to my apartment, my head swimming with fear.. The schnauzer follows, grumbling to himself.. Who were these cowards that could molest this poor animal with no respect for it's dignity? As soon as I get back, I collapse into a fitful dream… In my dream, I see the postman, as he was; each day at blimpies enjoying his simple repast, laughing at the funny papers, talking to himself in that endearingly retarded way he often did… Yet, there's something uneasy about it all, and I realize it's nighttime.. I'm never there at night and I feel anxious.. I look over to the chef, and he has a hideous grinning skull face… He's making a giant Durango, and laughing ghoulishly… At this point, Goldie enters the room.. she sits down across from me and leans in very close..

'Van de Kramp is on the move… South of here in the land of stench, our friend is being held.. The golden sandwich is on the cutting board… You need to hurry'

Then, she leans in closer and licks my face… She continues to lick, and lick 'til my face is covered in saliva… That's when I wake to discover the schnauzer sitting on my chest, his cold wet nose leather bathing my cheeks with moisture.. I sit up with a start, groggy and disoriented!.. What did this dream mean?...Just then, I hear a cooing at my window… It's an ominous sound.. Something is on the fire escape, pecking and sounding upset… I run over and lift up the panel to find an irate pigeon trying to get into my apartment.. I stand back to let him hop in… I notice something attached to his leg… It's a note!.. I carefully remove it and read the following:

'I managed to get this message off to you while they weren't noticing. I'm being held in Jersey City in a warehouse on 9th street. They've got the sandwich, and are making a break for Turkey.. After they eat the Turkey, they are going to BOLIVIA!.. Please hurry, I don't know what they plan to do with me, but I'm sure it involves pain, torture, and the dreaded Durango!!.. signed, the postman…'

The land of stench.. of course.. Jersey City!!... Only the foulest, most vile, disgusting individuals would dare set foot there.. Hastily I write a note letting postman know I was on my way… I attached it to the Pigeon's foot and watched as it flew away into the indigo ink sky…

So my dream was a vision of sorts.. So what else was it telling me?.. Blimps… at night… That must be it.!.. There's something going on over there!!... Me and the schnauzer rush over across town at lightning speed.. It's eerie out so late at night.. It must have been nearing 10pm!.. We get to blimps, and it is anything but the benevolently bright and cheery spot that it is during the shining hours of daytime… Inside it is smoky, and filled with rough looking characters speaking in low and menacing tones… I order a bologna with simple lettuce and tomato accompaniment, and the chef laughs at me..

'Get a load of the pansy, orderin' a simple lettuce and tomato accompaniment.. har har har!!.. This time a night, we order a real sandwich!! Real sandwiches for real men.. not mama's boys'…

The schnauzer starts to whine looking up at me eyes afeared..

'Ok then.. gimmee a Durango!!'…

The place gasps, then gets on with it's mumbling and menacing low talking… I sit down with and quietly eat.. It goes down like fire from ancient volcanos… I scan the room at the surly miscreants, vagrants, and killers… I hear someone laugh.. I know the voice!! I turn around, and it's Van De Kramp… He doesn't notice me, and I hunch down…

'Aye, e's all wrapped up like a nice xmas package e' is!.. In the land o' stench no one gets out alive I tell ye!'…

My beloved!!!... oh, my poor beloved….

Week 15

After leaving Goldie's, I haven't been able to get her out of my mind.. Sure she's a sketchy dame, and is likely mixed up in the disappearance of my beloved.. Still, she's got a fantastic set of knockers.. She picked them up in Madagascar - bronze.. very impressive… Not only that, but I think she cares for me… Sure, I'm dashing, I know that, it'd be hard for the poor girl to resist.. Even so, I believe that perhaps we could have something together like the people in the movies do…

I headed back to the docks to check out the situation with the 'Jambon Buerre'… Sure enough it was like Goldie said, the place was crawling with guards… There was no way I was getting on… What was I to do? 'Damnit all!!'… Right around this moment of abject hopelessness, I heard a distinctive snore.. I turned around to find that same schnauzer, sprawled out, taking a nap in the noon day sun…

'wake up boy!'.. 'wake up!..

The gray bearded cur lazily opened one eye and gave half a snort in my direction, then fell back asleep… Luckily I remembered that I had a t-bone steak in my pocket ( I was saving it for later).. I waved it in front of his prominent nose leather…
'C'mon boy.. I need you to do me a favor!!'…

This time I got better results.. His tail started wagging, tongue started smackin'.. I had his attention… I took out the note I received in my sandwich, and let it's scent waft into his nostrils…

'Ok boy.. You smell that?.. I need you to get on that ship and find the postman!!'…
I produced a pen and paper from my pocket, and hastily scribbled a note:

Postman are you ok? (circle one)

Yes No

I tucked the note in his collar, and sent him off… He made a b-line for the ship… I ducked in an alleyway to await his return…

After a while I must've dozed off, as I was awoken hours later to a considerable nip to my buttocks by what felt to me like an angry schnauzer.. I tried to get my eyes to focus.. Sitting on my lap was the schnauzer.. He had been shaved down into a poodle haircut, and bows placed in his fur…. I could tell that he had been crying, but I would deal with that later… I checked his collar for the note, and sure enough it was there… I quickly unfurled the note…

Postman are you ok? (circle one)

Yes No

It was circled……no…

 

Week 14

I spent the morning, wracked with guilt, waking up from a night of fitful sleep…If only I hadn't gotten involved, my beloved would not be in the clutches of these nefarious souls… What can I do? I need to find him, but how?.. I figured I would start with Goldie Golden, perhaps she'd have some information…

I hightailed it uptown, flew past the doorman, and pounded on her door… I was greeted by a small effeminate man whom I guessed was of Vietnamese origin..

'Well, well, well Goldie, look who it is', he snidely proclaimed…

I pushed past him and burst into the room with as much gumshoe bluster as I could muster…

'Ok Goldie, where is he.. I don't have time for any more of your charades'.. ( I pronounced charades with the british pronounciation, cha-RAHD, so as to make me seem more wordly)

'Ahh… mr. STEIN? Was it?.. I have no idea what you're talking about..'

I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently, partly to get her to spill the beans, and partly to watch her tremendous breasts jiggle erotically…

'Where is he!!??? Spill it, or I'm going to start breaking everything in this room, starting with your ceramic miniatures of Ethel Merman!!'..

'NOOOOOO!!! Please!!.. Ok, Ok.. They have him on board the Jambon Buerre…But You'll never get past the guards, they have the entire deck crawling with them.. Please.. listen to me, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into…'

I almost got the sense that she was concerned, as if perhaps she cared for me…

'Where are they keeping him?'

The Vietnamese  pooftah butted in, 'You don't have to answer him Goldie, you've said too much already..'

I turned around and gave him a roundhouse kick that sent him flying into her collection of antique bed pans, causing a tremendous clatter..

'STOP! She cried, please… I don't know.. He's somewhere down below.. I don't know where..'

She started to cry softly.. Part of me wanted to console her, caress her, throw her down on the floor and commit carnal perversion with her, yet I held it back.. Postman needed me, and it was no time to let my emotions get the best of me… I could hear the Vietnamese pooftah moan pathetically in the corner, both his feet had gotten stuck in bed pans, and he kept sliding around as he tried to get up…

I hastily left the scene and made my way to blimps… I had to think… On the way I saw an abandoned mailbag… I burst into tears…

I will find you Postman… I WILL find you!!!

 

Week 13

At around 4am I made my way down to the docks.. The smell of dijonaisse hung heavy in the cool, early morning breeze… The schnauzer was still in the same place sleeping peacefully..  I noticed there was one guard on deck; he appeared to be asleep, as his snoring was intolerable…. Skulking in the shadows, I managed to climb up a rope that was dangling on the side of the ship.. Crawling on my stomach, and using the darkness as my ally, I made it past the sleeping guard, and ducked down a hatch…

It was pitch black, I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, then I realized that my ninja mask has come askew and was covering my eyes.. I pulled it up and I could see much better… The ship seemed abandoned, it was quite creepy, and my teeth started chattering from nerves… I eased down the corridors, staying close to the walls, when all of a sudden I could hear someone talking in a nearby cabin… I inched closer to find it was Captain Van De Kramp…. The sailor's lockers were lined up outside the door to the cabin, so I carefully climbed in one marked Jones, Davey, and closed the door as quietly as I could… Unfortunately I locked myself in…

I began to panic; as I am quite claustrophobic when I want to be, but I forced myself to remain calm…I had a job to do… Through the slits in the locker I could make out that the Captain was on his cell phone.. I could barely make out his words…

'Aye.. I've got it right 'ere.. It's as glorious as they say… Should take the dijonaisse quite nicely..'

Sitting on the desk in front of him was an ornately carved box, as he was talking he lifted the lid, and a most brilliant light spilled out.. He dipped his hand inside and retrieved the most beautiful sandwich I've ever seen…

'Aye what a pretty sight she be.. should capture quite a hefty sum on the black market… So when should I be droppin' off this booty?'..

I was overcome… I also had to fart.. badly… I tried everything I could to hold it in, but it was no use… It escaped me with a powerful force, it rocked the locker with a metallic resonance… The Captain looked up, startled and angry…

'Who be thar??? Show yerself ye scurvy soft shell crab!!'…  I held my breath… I could see him coming towards the locker… The stench from my gas was making my eyes tear up.. He was almost on me now… He could smell me!! My brain scrambled, to figure a way out of this… Just then my hand brushed up against something inside the locker.. it felt like an aerosol can I grabbed it, and as the Captain flung open the door to the locker I sprayed the contents in his face and fled!

'AAaaarrRRRrrGGGHHhhh!!!' I could hear him screaming in pain… I made it up to the deck, and dove into the murky water, I was still clutching the can… It was Tinactin… From now on it would be my lucky charm…

Later that afternoon, I headed over to Blimps to discuss what had happened with the Postman, but he wasn't there…. Strange… Perhaps I had just missed him? Still it felt oddly sinister… I ordered my sandwich, and bit in ravenously… I thought to myself, 'hmm the tomatoes are a bit dry', then I realized there was a note in the bun!..   I pulled it out, and in an ugly scrawl it read :

We've got the postman.. Drop this now or he gets it!..

'NOOOOOooooOOOOOooooOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

'NOOOOooooOOOOOOoooooooOOOOOOO!!!!!'

Tears streamed down my cheeks!.. My beloved postman, why did it have to be you they took…  I must find you, I won't stop until you are back at blimpies, peacefully eating your bologna sandwich with simple lettuce and tomato accompaniment… I swear, I will find you… I WILL FIND YOU!!!!!

 

Week 12

On the advice of the Postman, this morning I went back uptown in order to stake out Goldie, to see if I could catch her in a suspicious act.. I waited hours, just hanging around, but I made sure to disguise myself as a cowboy so as not to raise any eyebrows…

Finally around 11am she appeared… I tailed her for an eternity 'til we finally wound up at the docks way the hell over on the west side… Instantly I was overpowered by the intense aroma of fresh baked bread mixed with the distinct smell of dijonaisse.. It was coming from a ship sitting there in the harbor.. From my vantage point I could barely make out the name of the vessel – Le Jambon Buerre…I carefully crouched down so as not to be seen, and watched Goldie board.. She was greeted by what I assume was the captain of the ship.. He looked exactly like the Gorton's Fisherman… They both looked somber, and proceeded to have a terrible argument…I got up and tried to get into a closer position, however I tripped over a schnauzer that happened to be napping nearby and I went flying… The Captain and Goldie turned over to see who was causing the commotion, but luckily my cowboy costume also included a bandana, and I covered my face quickly… The Captain yelled out, 'Ahoy ye landlubbin' oyster, what ye' be doin'?'… I didn't stick around to respond, I turned tail and ran away…

What does this all mean?.. A ship filled with what was obviously sandwich making material.. An argument?...A sleeping schnauzer.. I have no idea…

I double timed it back to Blimps to get my head together, have a a sandwich, and perhaps get Postman's take on the situation… When I arrived he was there reading his paper.. I approached him carefully, as he looked like he was engrossed, he was reading a particularly fascinating Garfield, and he was wearing an existential expression on his face..

'So, I tailed Goldie, and I found her down at the docks having a heated argument with the captain of the 'Jambon Buerre'..'

'Ahhh', the postman's eyes widened..'That would be Captain Van de Kramp…He smuggles the highest quality dijonaisse into the country and sell it for premium prices.. He's a scum!'

So I was right!!.. That was dijonaisse I had smelled..

'So, what does it all mean Postman?'…

'You need to get on that ship, and snoop around.. I can't be holding your hand through this!! You've gotta do the leg work man!!.. Now get on it!'…

All of a sudden I was filled with a deep sense of dread.. I had taken too big a bite of my sandwich, and I felt sick to my stomach… What have I gotten myself into… What my dear lord… what indeed..

 

Week 11

This morning I legged it over to Park Ave to try question Goldie Golden about the missing sandwich… It was coming down in buckets, and by the time I'd reached her building, I was soaked like a drowned walrus… I asked the doorman to announce me as an old friend of the family Pedro Stein from Buenos Aires.. She agreed to see me, and I entered the lift…

Her building was crass and aggressively ornate, all done up in over the top Rococo style.. I thought that the wishing fountain, with gilded cherub decoration was a bit much for the interior of the elevator… I'm an acetic by nature..

As I reached the 5th floor, I felt a strange lightheadedness.. What if she didn't believe I was Pedro Stein? Sure, it was a brilliant cover, but there was always the chance that she never had a friend called Pedro Stein… I got to her door.. It was the only one on the floor with a gold mezuzah… I knocked with confidence, and she appeared like a vision. Dressed in a sheer lilac negligee..

'Miftah. Ftein I prevume?'

'Yes.. Do you recall me? We used to play horse shoes in the local square together!'
'Naw..'

'Yes, and then we would sneak down to the local boulangerie and enjoy our favorite dish, Moog goo Gaipan in oyster sauce?'

'naw.. Miftha Ftein.. I dunnah recawll..'

'Surely you remember the time I de-flowered your one legged cousin Annette with a wine bottle? It was the talk of the town!'

'OHHhh Vat waff EWE??.. Cahm een.. Cahm een!'

She led me in through her foyer and bid me to sit down on the floor, she didn't like people to use the furniture… I bent down and creaked into a cross legged position…

'Goldie… I heard that Michael has had some trouble.. Some stolen property..'

'Yeff.. Ahve herd..Ah reed eet een tha papuh lahk effyone elfe'

'Oh really? You mean, you didn't hear it from him directly?'

'Have naht herd frahm heem een manths!!.. Hee shust shends a scheck tah mee effy mahnth..', I noticed the beginning of a tear dab the corner of her eye as she related this to me..

'Listen Goldie.. Did Michael ever speak to you about sandwiches? More specifically, a special prized sandwich?'
'Ahh.. yeff miffal ees crahzee fah fandwiffes!.. Fats ahll ee takks ahbawt!!'

'Did he ever speak of any one particular sandwich.. A SPECIAL sandwich?'

'Hmmm… Vy ahr ewe tho cooreeus?.. Ahr ewe veally Vedro Ftein? I vemembeer heem tahler.. ahnd come tah fink ahv eet.. Hee fpoke fpaneesh!!'

'Ok Goldie.. you've got me… I'm a shamus.. I'm investigating the disappearance of a special sandwich of your husband's.. It's essential that I track it down and return it to him..'

'Liffen Feamous.. Ahhh toll ewe eye dun fpeak tah mah huffband nah mahr.. Ahh fink yah vettah gah.. Ahhh dahn nahh anyyfing!'

She was becoming even more unintelligible, she must've been getting upset.. I took it as my cue to leave…

'Ok Goldie, don't get upset…. Here take my card, it has my number.. If you remember anything, just give me a call anytime..'

A salacious smile crossed her lips, her curvy pink tongue ran across her pearly teeth…

'ok shamus.. I just might do that… and by the way..she sells sea shells by the sea shore..'

And with that she shoved me out into the corridor and shut the door behind her…

I was shocked… I couldn't believe it… How did someone from Buenos Aires know that tongue twister?? Amazing!!

I high tailed it back to blimps to see if I could get a take on it from postman… He was just getting ready to leave, and I relayed the entire story…. He didn't say anything for a minute, then served me a steely gaze.. 'She's lying… you need to dig deeper'… and with that he collected his paper under his arm, and left me there…. Alone…

 

Week 10

Michael Golden is a hard man to get in touch with… I called his good offices to inquire about his stolen property, to try and figure out whether or not a sandwich was amongst the pilfered goods.. Unfortunately I got the brush off.. Apparently they have the CIA and the FBI looking into the matter… I called back a half hour later posing as an Inspector McDermott from Scotland Yard, but they hung up on me.. It wasn't until later that I realized I had put on a Chinese accent… What a fool I am!  

As I was looking over my notes on the case this afternoon at blimps, the postman turned over to me to say, 'Cherche la Femme!'… I wasn't sure what he was going on about.. Did he mean the missing sandwich was hidden in a church somewhere??... I must of asked this question out loud, as he turned around again and said,' Cherche! You idiot.. it's French!!..  It means investigate the woman!! Investigate his WIFE'… I wondered why the postman was speaking French, but I refrained from making a point of it, as I could tell he was in a testy mood..

 His wife Goldie Golden.. Hmm… She's a hot number, some arm candy he picked up in Buenos Aires on one of his many business trips.. He had brought her back to the states, and through his connections gotten her a screen test with Republic Pictures… There were rumors that she had an affair with the director, Victor Von Schnitzel, and then mysteriously Von Schnitzel died 3 months later in a horrible spelunking incident… Michael Golden was never officially charged with any connection to it…

She never made it as an actress… Tragically she was born with a horrible speech impediment which makes her practically unintelligible… This does not bode well for a phone conversation… I will need to track her down and communicate with her in person.. I will bring my trusty set of flash cards.. they are indispensable..

I look over to thank postman for the tip, but I notice he's already gone.. There's nothing left but a napkin.. I pick it up gingerly.. It's smeared with mayonnaise and bits of tomato, this brings a smile to my lips.. I can see something written in crayon.. 'G. Golden – 365 park ave. apt. 5d'…

I have my lead…Bless you postman… bless you…

 

 

Week 9

After last week’s vision, I have been on the look out for a golden sandwich… I haven’t found one yet… I’m beginning to wonder if it was all just a dream… Postman is being elusive, and casting me furtive glances askance.. If I’m supposed to be on a quest, I need to know more!!...   I hold up my sandwich and shake it plaintively.. A tomato breaks loose and lands on his forehead.. He leaves it there and shoots me a peeved look..

Who is this sandwich for? Who is ‘the rightful owner’?.. Why can’t he find his own sandwich?... I’ve been on a quest like this once before, where I searched for the best breakfast sausage in the city. However, that was my own personal journey, and involved no one else..  The tomato is starting to slide down.. Why must the postman be so aggressively disgusting? I guess it’s part of his charm…

All of a sudden a wild eyed man runs into Blimps and starts yelling frantically..’ They stole it!! They stole it!!!...The world is in danger!..’.. Ahmed the manager, inquires,’what? What is it they stole?’… ‘They stole my fillings and inserted a radion transmitter in it’s place, I can hear the CIA planning a coup d’etat, they’re planning to put Ronald McDonald in as dictator!!...’

Something tells me this poor soul is just misguided…I don’t think it has anything to do with the sandwich…

Postman is laughing at something he’s read in the paper.. I look over his shoulder, and see he’s reading an article on the reclusive billionaire Michael Golden… Apparently  he’s been robbed.. ahh.. who cares he has too much money anyway…

Hmmm… Michael Golden?

Golden sandwich!!!

I grab for the paper, but postman yanks it away…’get your own damned paper man.. You think I’m gonna hold your hand through this? Hit the bricks, you know the score, you’ve got the lead now motivate!’…

Indeed postman… indeed…

 

Week 8

As I sat down to eat this afternoon, I noticed the chef had slipped a note in the bun…I turned around to ask him what was the meaning behind this, however when I looked over to the fixing station,  it was a different chef…Such strange goings on… I opened up the note, and here’s what was written:

“You think you know something? You might not be prepared for what you may find.. Above all, remember one crucial thing.. . It’s is fundamentally important that you…”

Unfortunately I had eaten the rest of the note..

The postman, has his back turned to me… He certainly has a hand in this… Was he the chef? I know he’s a shapeshifter..  I feel I am beginning a wondrous adventure, one that may hold some measure of jeopardy… The hero’s journey…

All of a sudden, the postman turns to me holding a small dish of macaroni salad… ‘eat it’, he says sternly, ‘it’s fresh’… I take a bite, and I immediately start to feel a bit strange… My head began to spin uncontrollably.. I mean literally spin, like a pin wheel, and then everything got quiet.. That’s when I saw it… A large glowing orb hovering above me… It spoke in a somber tenor… ‘You have been chosen…’

‘Chosen?’, I sputtered  ‘Chosen for what?’

‘You must find the golden sandwich, and return it to it’s rightful owner, this is your destiny..’

‘Golden sandwich? I don’t understand? What golden sandwich? What owner??’

‘All will reveal itself to you in due time.. For now, finish the macaroni salad and relax, it’s quite fresh and delicious’

..and like that the orb disappeared… as had the postman… I finished the macaroni, and it was indeed quite tasty…

 

Week 7

I feel I may be on the cusp of a major breakthrough.. The glittering orb of truth that’s been refracting just out of my reach in the shallow pool of the collective unconscious.. At first I thought it was my car keys, or an old can of Dr. Pepper, but no, it is in fact a glittering orb of truth… How I know for certain? Printed on it’s side in bold letters is ‘orb of truth… made in hong kong’…

Postman can see I am teetering on the edge of enlightenment, he beams at me with those sensitive, reassuring eyes of his.. I on the other hand am a nervous wreck and nearly choke on my sandwich… I feel dizzy..  When Einstein first came up with the theory of relativity, he was struck with a nausea so intense, he had to throw up.. I feel the same way, however I’m not sure if it’s the impending enlightenment or the bologna sandwich with simple lettuce and tomato accompaniment… I think the mayo may have turned…

I look to the postman for guidance, he looks at me solemnly and then picks his nose.. It is all at once utterly disgusting and comforting at the same time… He’s telling me I must pick my path and stay with it… I don’t know exactly what it meant that he ate his booger however.. but no matter..  I have made my choice and I feel thoroughly sick!! It’s a wonderful feeling…

Pools of sweat have collected in my beard… My scarf feels like a noose.. This is not the mayo… This is something else.. This is the answer!!!...

The postman giggles softly, grabs his paper, and heads for the door, but before he leaves he looks back at me and says…’not so fast kid…’ I am completely overwhelmed, I stammer meekly,’ I don’t understand’.. He responds jauntily,’ Don’t chew your food so fast, you’ll get heartburn’.. and then he vanished into a mist… I don’t know what happened next.. I must’ve fainted, for the next thing I knew I awoke with my face in a plate of macaroni salad, with Ahmed the manager looking down at me… The weird part was I hadn’t ordered any macaroni salad.. Things are happening…

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Week 6

I am in a strange mood this afternoon… This time of day usually fills me with a sense of inner peace.. Cavorting with my pals at Blimps.. Communing with the benevolent master.. Eating a fine sandwich.. However, today it all seems so empty.. It feels jejune… It should feel jejuly.. I am off certainly…  

Why does it seem like everything is alien? I pick up my sandwich, and it reminds me of a football, however when I pick up a football it reminds me of Swoosie Kurtz.. How did Swoosie Kurtz get into acting? She surely has an ego the size of a large football.. A football the size of a blimp.. Blimps.. I am back again..  

The postman smiles, he knows I've had a revelation… All things are connected..  Sandwiches, footballs and Swoosie Kurtz… Once we all understand this, only then can we truly be free… Everything seems much brighter now!..   Perhaps it's my revelation, perhaps it's because Ahmed the store manager turned the lights back on… He had turned them off earlier as a 'time out', as we were getting to rowdy during a spirited game of 7-up… No one put down my thumb.. I felt a twinge of sadness..  

The postman is chuckling at something he's just read in the papers… I think it was the commix section he was laughing at, or perhaps the real estate section, I can't be sure.. I wonder where he lives… I picture a sacred place, filled with exquisite light… I see a simple and delicate throne in the middle of a large room.. My beloved is sitting there with his paper neatly folded on his lap meditating.. I don't know.. Perhaps it's in Queens..  

I can see by the way he's shuffling about I won't have much more time to spend with him this day, yet I feel good.. As always, I've learned something new about myself and the way of all things…I do not feel so bad, as he takes his final sip, dabs off each corner of his mouth, and leaves me.. alone.. again..

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Week five

The Postman continues to ignore me.. I honestly do not what I could have possibly done to offend the man.. I pull my Irish walking hat down over my eyes, as I cannot bear to witness his open disdain… I focus in on the remnants of my sandwich and do not miss the metaphor… My life is like a half eaten sandwich, what's left is chewed up and covered in saliva…

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Week four

I am filled with an odd melancholy this afternoon… When I awoke this morn, I could have sworn I had metamorphasized into a giant bug, and then I realized I had just slept wrong, and that I just had a mild crick in my neck.. Besides which, Kafka has already written that story…

Postman is ignoring me…

I sense that I may have angered him in some way.. Perhaps, it was because I ordered the Durango, instead of the bologna with simple lettuce and tomato accompaniment.. Well now, I am paying the price, not only am I incurring the wrath of the postman, but I am  also having the most unpleasant spasmodic convulsions in my colon..

Curse you Durango!! You have done me wrong yet again!!

I try to make eye contact with my beloved, yet he will have none of it.. He sips his beverage with a palpable disdain.. I respond by falling asleep.. I often times fall asleep under times of duress.. It’s not narcolepsy, as I went to a doctor once and he just diagnosed me as being a pain in the ass, although he said it in Latin, which made it seem less insulting..

I am in turmoil.. I can see he is finishing up, and I swear I heard him mutter something about ‘ that bearded freak with the Irish walking hat should burn in hell’… Next time, I will not order the Durango… I swear..

There he goes.. picking up his paper with a peevish flair… I am left.. alone…

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Week three

I share the line with Postman, standing side by side – boy and mentor.. I must admit I feel unworthy to be in such proximity to the man.. Up close he hardly looks human.. He's a shapeshifter.. He's a golden mist..

I place my order, bologna with simple lettuce and tomato accompaniment, the same as the master.. Of course my feeble ordering skills can not compare to his sonorous timbre and precise articulation.. I stammer and twice have to repeat myself as the chef could not understand my directions.. I feel ashamed.. As we pay for our respective meals, I detect an almost imperceptible smile thrown my way, almost as if to let me know I had passed some sort of test.. This makes me feel better, as I was sure I had made a complete fool of myself..

We take our seats, and partake of our bounty.. Postman is elegant and poised.. I smear tomato all over my face, in my over eager attempt to imitate the man.. Rookie mistake… I swear I hear him chuckle under his breath…

He reads his paper, enjoying the exploits of Paris Hilton.. He utters softly, 'Crazy white bitch!' Crazy white bitch indeed.. This is a man who knows how to cut through all the platitudes and get to the heart of the matter.. I am in constant awe in his presence.. One day I hope to speak to him with my own voice, not the one I borrowed from Mel Stein, which in point of fact I really need to return to him soon, as next Tuesday he has an extremely important symposium of which he's the guest speaker on 'The trauma inflicted on the overly sensitive child by wax lips'..  Mel is the world's pre-eminent authority on wax lips..

The repast is now over,, My beloved postman folds up his paper, ever so meticulously.. He dabs each corner of his mouth daintily and slips the paper effortlessly under his arm.. He's off again.. to leave me here once more…alone..

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Week two

The Postman is in luxuriant repose, perusing the paper with the eye of a hawk… When I was 19, I had a buddy who was connected to the mafia.. He would always say everyone was watching him with ‘the eye of a hawk’… ‘Lookit this guy ovah heeya, wawchin’ wit the eyes of a Hawk he’s wawchin’..  He would love the Postman though.. How could you not?...

He had his usual fare today, however, I think I detected just a hint of dolor in his body language.. It was almost imperceptible, yet it threw me into a temporary tailspin from which I recovered only by ordering a side order of macaroni salad..  Macaroni salad always eases my angst… I dearly pray no one has broken this man’s heart.. They would have me to contend with, that’s for sure..

Blimps feels ordinary today.. Usually it’s an absolutely lovely atmosphere, yet today, for some reason it just seems so pedestrian... In life, there are Blimpies people and Subway people and never the twixt’ shall meet… Or is it twain’?... Either way, it is a chasm that is insurmountable.. Put me down as a Blimps man!

Uh-oh.. he’s folding his paper up in that deliberately elegant way he does.. That can only mean one thing, he’s getting ready to… leave me here .. alone once again

 

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Week one

He’s reading the NY post.. Which can only mean one of two things; Either he’s reading it for the sports section, or he’s a right wing, kool-aid drinking, conservative, moron.. I tend to think he’s a sports fan… I wonder which team he follows.. He looks like a Knicks fan.. He definitely roots for the underdog..

He ate his usual baloney and cheese, with a simple tomato and lettuce accompaniment.. He’s an ascetic by nature I feel..  Blimps makes a decent sandwich, but never go for the Durango…

It takes a while for him to get through his meal.. He eats with a sense of purpose, slow and steady… Maybe he gets indigestion if he eats too quickly… I don’t feel too well… I ate too quickly..  Something about him gives me the impression that he’s an ex military man.. Probably was in Denang, or maybe he flew copters in the DMZ.. Perhaps, it’s due to his fantastic posture, or maybe it’s just the uniform.. He looks good in a uniform… Still… It seems a half size too small…  That’s ok, it suits him..

I wonder what he’s up to tonite after work… A poker game with the boys? He’s finished with his sandwich now..  It’ll only be a matter of time, before he folds up the paper under his arm like a small parcel, and leaves me here..