There's a young couple in the parking lot, kissing. Not just kissing, they look as though they might eat 
each other up, kissing, nibbling, biting, mouths wide open, play fighting like young dogs, wrapped 
around each other like snakes. I remember that, sort of, that hunger, that passionate intensity. And I get 
a kind of nostalgic craving for it, in a way that I get a craving, occasionally, for the food of my 
childhood. Baloney on white bread, for instance: one slice of white bread with mustard or Miracle Whip
or ketchup--not ketchup, one has to draw the line somewhere--and one slice of baloney. It had a nice 
symmetry to it, the circle of baloney and the rectangle of bread. Then you folded the bread and the 
baloney in the middle and took a bite out of the very center of the folded side. When you unfolded the 
sandwich you had a hole, a circle in the center of the bread and baloney frame, a window, a porthole 
from which you could get a new view of the world.

From North of the Cities (Will o' the Wisp Books, 2007)