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Second time ever on an airplane. First trip to a foreign country alone, and "Amerika" no less. I was picked up at the airport near the summer school at Mt. Holyoke that I was headed to, and the director of the program asked me if I was hungry. After some initial struggle with the American and Czech accents, we had both agreed my favorite food was cheese, and he pulled the car over nearby what seemed like a complete paradise. A place open in the middle of the night, climate controlled, floors freshly wiped. And with so many options. I've never had a sandwich before - not the kind where you can decide what you want on it and things just keep on piling up. You get to choose and you can ask for extra cheese? You can combine whatever you want? Freedom is miraculous. I was in love with the U.S. at first bite. I was hoping I'll get to go back to this small sandwich shop one day in my life, to taste the heavenly combination of lettuce, cheese, olives and whatever good mustard-mayonaisy thing you can pour on it. Little did I know that I will one day grow to despise this place and the omnipresent smell it emits. Damn you, Subway.
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