Volare City was a melting pot overflowing with culture, opulence, and pleasure for those who were fortunate. The divide between the rich and the poor was never more obvious than when you were on your feet looking up at those steel behemoths that dared to pierce the sky. They were endless, infinite even, and you were merely a speck of dust in a sea of people. People flocked here from near and far, chasing dreams and bringing with them their culture. There was a lot you could say was the problem with this city, but a lack of diversity wasn't one of them. Yang’s Diner, which belonged to my friend Lily, was merely a drop in the bustling culinary scene downtown.

Ethan, Gabe, and I had been to practically every cheap food joint within five miles of the precinct, but with our newfound free time, we were broadening our horizons. Everyone had gotten some time off, even though I was the only one taking medical leave. Perhaps it was partially an apology, but mostly, they were just covering their own asses. They messed up, and they knew it. Paid leave was the least they could offer us, and in a just world, we would have gotten much more than that. It was a bitter pill to swallow, having to settle for breadcrumbs.

My Iris pinged. Gabe’s name flashed before my eyes, accompanied by a simple message. ‘Sandwiches?’ it said. I peeked inside my fridge. There were a few cans of energy drinks and some half-eaten leftovers. I could do better than that. Crinkling my nose, I sent back a ‘You bet. I’ll meet you there.’ Another ping later, and I had a time and an address. ‘Got it,’ I sent back, before throwing on my trench coat and heading out the front door.

My heels rang against the metallic stairs as I made my way down to the car. We were all coping with our newfound free time differently. While I had been finding myself pacing in my apartment more than I wanted to, Ethan had been spending more time with his wife, and Gabe had finally bitten the bullet on his food reviewing journey, and I was proud of him for it. And honestly, I was thankful too. It was a shred of normalcy against the bleak gray sky and the rush of people hustling for their next paycheck.

Gabe, always a connoisseur of the sort of cheap and quickly prepared foods we always found ourselves eating, found joy in what was so blindingly mundane. Our hectic work schedules often didn’t pair well with a good diet. We ate simple. We ate fast. In fact, the faster, the better. When push came to shove, we grabbed whatever we could on the go, whether that was takeout, cup noodles, or frozen individually packed dinners. You name it, and we’d probably had it before.

Once I was on the road, the gentle hum of the engine soothed my frazzled nerves. Now that was a simple pleasure I could savor well. I rolled down the window to feel the wind on my face. Broken down to the basics, it was the small things in life that made you feel alive.

The address Gabe gave me led into a small side street. Down, towards the end, a blinking neon sign read “Ria’s Pizzeria.” Cute. The simple brick building gave off the vibes of a nostalgia trap. Once I opened the door, I was met with the smell of pizza cooking in a brick oven. This place made food the old-fashioned way, and the rustic décor gave off a feeling of home away from home. It was a simulacrum of a simpler time and place – something no one alive today would have ever experienced. That was a symbol of the resiliency of the people, no matter how downtrodden they will be, they will always find a reason to dream of happier days.

I brushed past a crush of people standing by the door for a birthday party, no doubt. The children were bouncing on their heels, clad in festive attire. A waitress hurried over to meet me, but I waved her away, pointing towards my company in the back corner. Ethan and Gabe were sitting in a booth. They noticed me quickly. People tended to do that when you stood out as much as me. I’m not sure he could have missed me if he tried, even from halfway across the room.

“Gabe, if this is what you consider a sandwich, we’re going to have to have a talk,” I said, raising my brows.

“Oooh, the talk. I know that one,” Gabe said. “Like the birds and the bees, but with less innuendos and more sandwiches.”

“Exactly,” I said, taking a seat. “Ethan, why don’t you tell him?”

“No, I can’t break his dreams like that,” Ethan said. “You started this. Finish what you started, Lana. I believe in you.”

The three of us smirked at each other. This was a game we played well, and no one ever wanted to be the first to crack. Regaining my composure, I propped up my arms on the table and leaned over them with an expression of ultimate sincerity.

“Gabe, I hate to break it to you, but pizza isn’t a sandwich.”

Not one to back down, Gabe geared up for a rebuttal.

“Nah, pizza is a sandwich; you just gotta fold it in half first. Meat, cheese, and sauce between two layers of bread. Bam! Sandwich. Done.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

He leaned back, self-satisfied, propping one arm over the back of his booth seat. Ethan was deep in thought. After a careful moment of contemplation, he looked up and gave his verdict.

“I’m afraid he has a point, Lana. That is indeed the definition of a sandwich. I can see no flaws in his logic.”

“Are you two ganging up on me? What is this? Boys’ club?” I asked. “Gabe, why don’t you just admit you changed your mind? You wavered; it happens to the best of us.”

Gabe crossed his arms, shaking his head slowly.

“No, no, no. I never waver. Life’s too short for that.”

“I can stand behind that,” Ethan said. “In fact, a wise man once said, ‘If you don't stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.’”

“Getting philosophical, are we?” I scoffed. “Alright, let’s say I accept your premise that pizza is a sandwich and raise you the notion that soup is also a sandwich. How do you plead?”

“Anything is possible with hard work and determination,” Ethan said.

Gabe rubbed his chin thoughtfully before shooting a look my way.

“If this soup’s got a lid on it. Yeah, a real fancy bowl with a lid on it; now you’ve got stuff on the bottom, stuff in the middle, and stuff on the top. Case closed, baby, that’s a sandwich.”

He slammed his hand on the table triumphantly.

“I suppose the defining factor would be whether the edibility of the Tupperware impacts its classification as bread,” Ethan said. “After all, debating whether or not plastic could be categorized as a type of bread would be unnecessarily complicated.”

Gabe shook his head and leaned back again.

“Don’t get stuck on technicalities,” he said. “That stuff’s for nerds. Big tough guys like us? We don’t need all those thinky parts. Bread? Plastic? It’s all the same to me.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, having me on the run, but I wasn’t going to give up that easily.

“Earlier you stated that sandwiches need two layers of bread by definition. Are you two trying to tell me that bread is interchangeable with plastic?” I asked.

“Some people would argue that Kraft cheese should be considered plastic, and yet we still eat it by the truck load. It really makes you think, doesn’t it?” Ethan said.

Gabe nodded.

“You heard the man. If cheese is plastic and cheese is edible, then plastic is also edible. That’s all there is to it. No harm, no foul.”

I knew where they were going with this, and I was prepared to counter his proposition with a careful bit of deflection. Magicians will often use misdirection to divert their audience’s attention, concealing their carefully practiced tricks with a flick of their wrists and a wave of their hands. By employing this tactic, I could use the art of distraction to accept the premise they had presented without ever saying a word of it.

“Are you two out here telling me that you eat plastic? I’m starting to feel a bit concerned about your digestive tracts.”

It was a magnificent ploy, and they took it hook and sinker. Ethan began laughing, already having moved on.

“Do you remember the time you took a bite of the foil on a chocolate egg, and I convinced you that you were going to die?” he said.

“I do, and I still haven’t forgiven you for that,” I groaned.

“Admit it, it was a little funny,” he laughed.

“Never,” I said, having heard it too many times before. It wasn’t always easy having an older brother.

Suddenly, the server arrived, interrupting us with a piping hot deep-dish pizza. They must have ordered before I got here. I didn’t mind, they knew what I liked, and there was no point in postponing the order just to have me tell them what they already knew. Despite the wide variety of cuisine available here, in Volare City, deep-dish pizza was what it was known for.

The melted cheese stretched into strings when we each took a slice. We ate together while smiling, laughing, and catching up on each other’s lives. There wasn’t much to report. Sometimes, no news is good news. Our days had been luckily uneventful since the last time we met up. Gabe took breaks between bites to focus on the screen of his tablet. Finally, he smiled in satisfaction and tucked it back in his pocket.

“That’s it,” he said. “The “Gabe’s Good Eats” is live.”

“Are you going to show us or what?” I asked, raising a brow.

“You know it,” he said.

“Send that to me too,” Ethan said. “I’ll forward it to Noah. He’ll get a kick out of it.”

***

On the way home, I set the page to read aloud. It was a good way to fill the silence of an empty car.

“Alright, here’s the deal. If you live for pizza, “Ria's Pizzeria” is the place to be. This joint’s got a bit of old-school charm with a bit of something new to keep it spicy. Yeah, it’s got those vibes – real homey, almost cozy enough to kick off your shoes and prop them up on the table.”

I smiled; that was Gabe alright. It had him written all over it.

“And the pizza? Don’t worry about it. It’ll fill you up real good with a nice deep dish, or maybe a thin crust, if you’re into that sort of thing; I don’t judge. But the deep dish? Damn. The thing’s swimming in sauce and cheese, and not the weak stuff that doesn’t melt quite right either. I’m talking about the good stuff, the stuff that stretches like it’s holding on for dear life when you dive in for a slice. They don’t cut corners here.”

The automated voice wasn’t quite right, but it didn’t matter; I could practically see him narrating it as the words played out.

“The staff weren’t half bad either, like some old buddies who’ve already seen it all. Yeah, they run a tight shift. Good food. Cheap food. Fast food. What’s not to like? It’s good enough to call it a sandwich. Yeah, fold that sucker in half and inhale it like God intended. You’re gonna need to loosen your belt; I guarantee it.”

The automated voice finished up the text and continued on with the footnotes. Ethan and I both had a seat of honor in the credits under top contributors. This was what it was all about. By the end of the night, I was full and satisfied because I knew two things. The first was that I was in good company. The second was that pizza was a sandwich, end of story.