Sacrifice the lettuce. That was the last command scrawled on the crumpled napkin. Not a metaphor. Not a joke. Just some mayhem in a sandwich store after closing time.
Jerry stood motionless, clutching a knife and looking at the final head of lettuce as if it had the answers. The refrigerator sounded ominously. The meat was gone and the buns were stale, but consumers online wanted "crunch. " Someone had to pay the price.
"Do it," Maria said, her apron drenched with sauce. "Make the ultimate BLT. "
Jerry agreed. With the solemnity of a priest, he tore back the exterior layers, which were crisp and gleaming. No ceremony. No delay. Simply slice—sacrifice—serve.
Jerry knew the client had taken his first mouthful when his eyes widened in pleasure.
Sometimes surviving involves losing what's green in order to preserve what's golden.