Katz's deli on Orchard
Street.
chaos
and pastrami.
everyone in their
heavy coats, hats
and gloves.
the line snakes
through
the long alley
of the restaurant.
we wait
with snow melting
on our shoulders.
tickets in hand.
we salivate
as plates of sandwiches
go by,
carried by strong
waitresses,
elbowing through
the crowd.
the guy behind
the counter
keeps slicing the meat
in a far away
trance.
don't lose your number
the guy at
the front says.
cash only.
come on, keep it moving.
close the door,
it's snowing for God's sake.
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