Jack's Subs Sinks the Plan

Absolutely giddy from my realization I practically skip down the sidewalk, never once checking over my shoulder for them.  Why would should I?  They haven't a clue where I am.

Today may be a Tuesday, but my wonderful recognition calls for celebration.  I dance down to the corner and into Jack's Subs; usually I go to Mabel's for lunch on a weekday and Jack's on a Saturday, but such joyous news must be acknowledged by a sandwich of superior quality, even if it is only a Tuesday.

I hum a little tune, and as I bounce in the little bell on Jack's door sings along with me.  Glad to see it's happy, too... but how would it know of my jubilation?  It doesn't know about my haircut, does it?

"Heya A-Dave!" Jack, purveyor of Jack's Subs, cries out from behind the counter.  "Is it Saturday already?"

My high spirits drop faster than a block of concrete-coated lead.  He called me by my nickname! I think with a start.

"The usual for you, Dave?" Jack asks cheerfully, too blissfully occupied by mustard and lunchmeat to notice my rising panic.  No!  Not the usual name!  Not the usual sandwich!  They'll surely recognize me!  My mouth, however, refuses to protest.  That'd give me away for sure.

"Here you are A-Dave, your usual six-inch ham'n salami with mustard and a quarter-pickle," Jack announces, handing my sandwich over the glass counter case.  I cringe as I take the sandwich.  "Something wrong, Dave?"

"Oh no, nothing's wrong!" I exclaim, attempting an easygoing tone and utterly failing.  "Everything's business as usual."

Business as usual for sure, I think as I timidly poke my nose out of Jack's Subs.  Brandishing my neatly-wrapped sub I step out into the busy street, that feeling sinking in faster than a straw in a milkshake.

They found me again.

The End

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