Something greater than myself guided me, I swear.

I marched west then souf, waded through a college campus, a sea of gulls and a congregation of vagrants to utter these magic words:

"Polish. Everything. RC."

The Express Grill, nestled between the highway and UIC, painted a lush yellow and perfumed with Vienna Beef. Its scent carried by highways, subways, trains, streets, buses and wind across the municiple topography of Chicago, Illinois.

The most astonishing Polish sausage yet delivered to man:

Savory meat cuttings in snappy casings covered in mustard, peppers and grease dripped from babbysoft onions, sopped by the unassuming whiteness of a hotdog bun--so big you childishly worry that your stomach might get exploded by its lavishly peppery piquancy. Indeed, an Express Grill belch carries more weight than the whole of a dozen lesser Polishes.

$3.20

I sat on a bench, ate it and took the bus back to work.