The time has come, the walrus said, to speak of other things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings. -Lewis Carroll.
'Interesting stuff.' Quoth the Sandwich, sitting at a park bench in the middle of winter. Snow piled up all around his bench--a vast expanse of the purest of white snow, punctuated by giant piles of disgusting muddy slush and the footprints of countless random people.
The Sandwich took an eager bite of his pastrami and rye, and chewed it thoughtfully. A dab of mustard escaped from inside the sandwich, and plunged down to create an oily stain on his coat, a stain which would persist there for the life of the coat, or a massive rainstorm, whichever came first. He strained to read the paragraph again, but it managed to just elude his understanding:
The Sandwich kept up a pretense of understanding as he consumed both the pastrami, and his book.
