I was told that if I wanted to meet with Don Iannotti, it had to be at this hole in the wall parmigiana sandwich shop.
So I sat, eating a decent enough chicken parm sandwich, and waited.
The proprietor, cashier, and chef stood scraping onions back and forth along the hotplate.
"You waiting for Tony?"
I glanced up.
"Uh, I don't know him well enough to call him that, but yes. I presume you're on the payroll then?"
"Huh? Don't talk with your mouth full, I'm deaf, gotta read your lips."
"Oh, that explains it."
"Certainly my explanation."
"Wait, what?"
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