Subway

Fast service. Nice eating area.

With veracity and great candor I proclaim that this palatable concoction of meats and bread almost allowed an absquatulation of sublime salivation from my oral cavity in a guffaw of utter consternation. The youthful artisan that dexterously crafted this menagerie of meats coupled with its heterogeneous nature is profoundly adroit in the culinary arts; it is the most glorious of submarines I have indulged in ravenously xertzing in eons. Could it be that my eyes deceive me and my tongue surreptitiously beguile me? Perhaps it is the myopia through my spectacles that precipitates my doubt so, or the saline deluge cascading down my cheek bones shrouding my vision. Despite this deterrent, I acquiesced to entertain the guide of my antediluvian optics, endeavoring to elucidate the epithet of the virtuoso before me. I would prevaricate in saying I recall the name verbatim, but with all the knowledge retained of this remarkable journey I believe the title of this adept juvenile to be Nolan. Balbutiate he might, but his eloquence and amiability exhibited through his altruistic service only enchanted his delectable creation. The salient juxtaposition of this with his counterpart is rather farcical, but I divagate. The euphoria fomented from this sonorously euphonious platter is tantamount to the reverence and preeminence of a syzygy. The store should be honored to harbor such a power. This man is no dilettante, with the gloves he wields the prowess of a thousand master chefs, and I will indubitably defend him so.