Ten-fifty-one arrives.
With my hundred-pound freshman backpack behind me,
I still manage to march at five minute mile pace
down to where my feast awaits.

Line up.
Soldiers marching steadfast towards their goal,
not once faltering to one of the more mediocre meals,
for glory will prevail ahead.

Done waiting.
I capture the manila five-compartment Styrofoam tray. It feels like a porcelain dish.
The month old bun shields the melted mozzarella goodness over grade F meat.
The Holy Grail has finally been obtained.

Find seat.
I lift the heavenly Steak-Um out of its cradle
and bite.

Overcome with elation,
I know the battle was worth it.