Free Sandwich

by Heather Nicholson

He mirrored what I didn’t want to admit, sitting at an adjacent table, unassuming with a smile that was either inviting or ominous. I couldn’t decide which. By then, stranger danger had set in and in my paralysis, the sandwich melted through the thick layers of skin I’d spent years building.

He’d handed it to me, the sandwich—hot and smelling of cheese and buttery croissant that I couldn’t eat. This man, this stranger, with his simple gesture and polite smile, reflected the lie of unity. There was no us— just a clear division made visible by a breakfast sandwich.

---

#TheHobbesPerspective #HeatherNicholson