At first, I don’t understand what he means, not until he nods to the tinfoil gripped tightly in my hand. “What did you get?” “Umm …” I swear I only blink, but that brief motion feels like it’s about a thousand years long as my mind scours through every item on the menu I have memorized, landing on the only word I can seem to summon. “Meat.” “Meat …?” “Ball.” The guy’s head tilts. My throat strains around a desiccated swallow. “Ballmeat. I mean, meat … ball. Meatball sub. Footlong. Ish.”
OH MY GOD LMAO
