Meat Me in St. Louis, Lewis 

I love the food you cook. Why it's worthy stayin' up late for like til 4:00am.  The other night, e.g., you asked if I wanted sloppy Joe's and I said fuck yeah who wouldn't want Joe's, sloppy or otherwise.  I mean if some of the Joe squirted out the side of the bread—whole wheat, white, rye—who gives a shit long as it's fresh or not too stale just so it don't have no mold on it. Yeah I said I'd like a Joe or two, depending on how many are eatin' and how hungry you are yourself I mean you work fuckin' hard all day long. I don't see how ya do it. I know I couldn't and I'm half your age. Think what it'll be like when you're seventy-seven. You might be too old to open the sauce and pour it on the burger and put it on bread or buns on bagels or on British muffins. Ya might be too old ta cut the mustard.  Then ya gotta find plates preferably paper ones to put it on cause ya can't expect people ta eat it outta their hands. If ya used real plates, they'd probably break 'em so they wouldn't have ta wash dishes. They might put the plates on their heads like funny hats. They might laugh themselves sick. And they probably'd want something else to go with the Joe's cause that ain't much especially if you only get one sandwich and it's so late and you're so tired and you been thinking all day and nobody knows what goes good with Joe's. Some say potato salad and some say egg salad and some say ham salad and some say tossed salad, and you're not even sure you got enough bread or muffins or bagels or cereal. And by this time it's about 5:23 and they ask you again if you want sloppy Joe and you're so tired you don't know if you want one or two maybe. They're not sure if you heard them or not about the Joe's. So when they ask one more time, you're not sure what you're answerin' when you shout back, "Fuck, yeah, I want one!"