Exploring sandwich delivery

The scratchy compassion in her voice comforts him, especially when he's mad with drink. He takes a breath and life lightens. She understands that he feels empty, that he is hungry, and that a pepper and egg sandwich will ease his pain, his pangs. She calls him "sweetie," and he feels better. Someone listened. Someone cares.

When the buzzer rings he stumbles down the stairs and meets the deliveryman halfway. He pays and tips and vaguely worries that he reeks and that his eyes are red and half-shut.

All worry ceases when he opens the sandwich and takes that first greasy bite: the pepper is the squirting phallus and the egg the ovum. He makes sounds that he only hears in internet movies and at the end of PBS cooking shows.

Oh, green pepper!

Oh, oh, egg!

Does someone have a towel? This napkin won't suffice.