He won't shut the fuck up about his Italian Beef sandwich. First, he explains to everyone at the bar about how it is an iconic sandwich. A "Chicago" sandwich. If you're in the city, you have to have one. Take it from him, he's cook in a prison in California, but he grew up in Waukegan, Illinois. "How did you become a cook in a prison?" "The last guy was knifed to death." He answers and then continues in with his Italian Beef Sandwich lecture. Everyone leaves and he turns to me and explains how he's going to approach the sandwich..."I'll cut it in half if a hot bitch sits next to me, otherwise, I'm just going to stuff that shit in my mouth. I got a dinner salad too." 30 minutes later I see a delivery guy scanning the lobby and the bar. I wave and point at the guy who has now had six heinekeins and six shots of jager.
"Fuck all right," he says and looks around. "Guess I can shove this shit," no ladies in the room. His mouth fucks the sandwich and the sandwich fucks his mouth. He finishes it and then smokes.
For the next four hours, he tells everyone at the bar about the sandwich. How he ordered it. How he ate it...and that he's stuffed, couldn't eat another thing.
I start shutting down the bar and he starts talking about being hungry. "I got to go hunting for appetizers," he says. He gets up and walks toward the donut shop across the street and then veer into the dumpsters where he throws up, takes a piss and then walks into the store, looking for appetizers.