Soda pops and italian subs

There aren't many days that I drink soda, but I couldn't pass up some post-practice root beer. The glass bottle in hand, sweetness on the lips and tongue, and the satisfying clink of a teammate to teammate cheer. Topping that off with an Italian sub from the warehouse district was the filling in the pothole. So smooth. I never would have ventured into the authentic Italian place on my own for a variety of reasons, but none so much as the fact that the building looked like a roughed up, downtrodden warehouse. Inside riches were displayed in olive oil of all shapes and sizes. Cans and bottles, truffles and extra extra virgin, all the olive oil I could imagine dominated the scene. In the far back, there was a butcher and some sandwich makers. They churned out real Italian subs, just like one might expect from the back of warehouse filled with olive oil and wine. If I knew Italian I'd whip it out right now and say, "delicious." I'm not that worldly, instead I present another post and the celebration of soda and subs.