When I was very young I discovered I had a great passion for sandwiches. I would eat them almost every day, for breakfast, during lunch at school and for an after school snack before my sandwich dinner.

Yes I love sandwiches; this is because my maid made the best sandwiches you could imagine. She had the gift, but while I was still very young she passed away, leaving me maid-less and sandwich-less.

Ever since that day I have been trying to find the perfect sandwich to fill the hole that my maid's passing left. The first place I went to was subway, but I didn't have enough money for anything except a cup of water.

As I continued on, my journey brought me across a Jimmy Johns. The atmosphere was nice, lots of sarcastic signs; it reminded me of my life on the road.

I ordered the turkey tom, and by the time I had finished paying it was ready. This was interesting to me.

Never in my life, had I seen a sandwich treated with such disrespect tossed here, thrown together, and wrapped like an old diaper. Even though it was wrongly disrespected I decided to give it a chance.

Mayonnaise that is what it tasted like, their fresh bread was more like semi-fresh bread. I don't know if that is how they treat everyone or just the homeless, but I have to say it wasn't the sandwich I was searching for.

About a week later, there was a Hogi Yogi. Just in time too, because it had nearly been a week since I had eaten last.

I timidly walked in side, looking a bedraggled mess I felt a bit embarrassed. Not only had I not eaten but I hadn't slept or showered either.

Being starved and deprived of sleep I don't remember how much I spent on the stacked club that I bought, but I remember being broke afterward... which really wasn't too uncommon for me. I patiently waited for my sandwich to arrive, while children by me were pinching their noses and pointing at me.

This sandwich was nearly perfect, except for the fact that it was made by some pseudo-mom zombie on steroids. What I mean is this sandwich wasn't made by humans.

There is no way it could fit into a person's mouth, unless you have a detachable reptilian jaw. I imagine those are the type of people that would eat this too, because of the astounding amount of meat that was packed in it.

I went back home after years on the road and I thought that my search was all in vain. As I cursed and mumbled some murmurings to myself, I made myself a sandwich.

When I ate it, it hit me like an unbaked slab of dough to the face. I had an epiphany: the perfect sandwich is unique to each individual, and no fast food cooperation can replace that.