Subway Diary #1

Review of Subway by Buena High School in Ventura, California

SUBWAY DIARY #1

Burnett Avenue was a high hill-top over the sea of Anacapa Island. My legal guardians bought a vintage house and ripped the prisons there. Who knew that icy fog, a neighbor dog whipped by belts? Of course, games came too close for home. The South Victoria Road was too long to be remembered. I was a bigger child called a “teenager.” But I had experiences with Nale’s dog-honey and got shivering star stickers for quick math tests while in elementary, and years later I ate a warm meal of fried chicken at KFC after I got suspended (for a day) for a fight in the P.E. weight room over shoes and flattery. Eventually high school became casual and brand new psychologically: I got my first kiss from an egg-thrower, and Subway slowly lived in Victoria Plaza. Family was always business. As a sibling I painted windows for that old Vons grocery store decades ago. Employees from Vons used to give curious strangers free boxes so they could move away. I mixed school paints and learned to make colors of “baby sky blue” and pinker violet or “monster brown,” which wasn’t brown at all! This talk is just a stream of consciousness. So, why would Subway influence me? To tell the reader, in pure honesty, I had my first Subway meal on Johnson Drive when citizens were frolicking for the movie Paulie. I traveled to Europe as a graduation present and came back angry at the United States. Countries can be groups of states and have actual names, so what are the United States anyway? The reader knows? I felt like running from blue jays after hanging decorations. Subway on Telegraph Road served those purposes for mobile turkey slices. It’s true that they offered diet roast beef and fairly light potato chips, but the food would be delicious when I used imagination, and Jared really acted as a fresh walker for the future. Jared’s arrested now; indeed, the world’s always arrested. Jared has the kind of eyes that see into souls as they swish swiftly, and I can’t find so many similar eyes. Simply put, I’m born before awaking. Trips highlight or else values may shine. As a smaller child, me and the other elementary school brats would pay respects to McDonald’s with free cheeseburger certificates. Those cheeseburger certificates had symbols of coupon scissors to indicate our infusion of gifts and extraordinary comments, and they were printed in glowing dark blue letters that to me meant prosperity and mysticality. Subway would be around, but of course the person who gave birth to me would drive in a society of the 90’s that still had some of the 80’s fashion. Drinks from ampm had a glowing orange that was brighter than humanity and ever closer to the self-made gusto of gasoline stations at the time. So, do gas stations still have an approach to them? I say this because there’s a Subway store in the city attached to a Chevron gas station. Maybe Subway itself is like a modern gas station because a business’s anticipation for cool customers can be so impartial, so vague, as the reader should know. Subway and Starbucks were hot contenders of vivid movements by Telegraph Road. Many teachers to this day are preoccupied with the possibilities of faces, school teachers I mean. The Subway store I speak of stood where hurried buyers waited in scattered lines as slender occupants. Sure, maybe a trouble-maker worried about fire. Think about how hot and distant the meatballs were, the steam, so the reader should believe. Bread and meat can become one, and I was troubled by red homework. So, pastrami still is the local favorite most people don’t buy. Craziness is a part of being normal. My family put carrots outside our hill-house for the flying reindeer. But we don’t use stockings anymore. Simple measures often take drastic opinions. An empty plate can hurt a bum until the politicians stop cheering. The Subway Store on Telegraph Road was a present for my restaurant adventures as long as my culture of gamboys and sombreros kept me intact. The reader probably can’t regret my neck. Entertainment in the past would come to haunt me. There are a few basics I can count on. Subway is the place for delicious strawberry tea and milder diet cola, plus exclusive bags from movie promotions can be given. The selections of bread are like the assorted medium for durable bites. Herbs can pack some hidden flavors, but this is no magic. A worker for Lay’s chip factory knows about the rustic tastes of American gyros; however, don’t underestimate the power of biscuits and gravy. I’m obviously talking about potato chips, special potato chips. Subway would have special chips, but their desserts are basically about them; in fact, a lot of products are about Subway because they seem to only come from them. A footlong isn’t a foot short, the sandwich I mean. Hot sauce works over mean mustard. Of yes! Does the reader know that Subway had served the best custom sandwich in the world? To make the world’s best custom sandwich, I ordered an Italian Hero (Subway’s limited edition type) and toasted it with bacon and requested guacamole, a spice with Italian perfume, red wine vinegar and plenty of mustard. The results were a thickly wet meaty sandwich with rather spicy guacamole and scented cute bread. My Subway custom sandwich was more wonderful, something with beauty for a tongue, and it beat Black Bear Diner’s home specialty sandwich. This says a lot! Besides, Subway hangs up pictures of their ingredients in frames, and the sandwich artistas work around fine wood tables and cushy chairs with metallic legs. The reader can make a conclusion, so I say that Subway is somewhat of a business that goes beyond international cultures and, as an American entity, simply proffers, really creates, giving customers the correct temperatures as well as avid slicers and our suitable means. I’m disappointed that someone robbed another Subway store off from Victoria and Walmart, because really it’s just better, forever better, to enjoy a restaurant’s wrapped dishes instead of hurting people. But what can I say? I am people.

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