his afternoon I decided to order a meatball sandwich for lunch. This is an example of bad logic, because it is the kind of indulgent, lazy shit I do when I drink too much the night before (bad logic, too, but also more fun), and it is the kind of thing that keeps my clothes from fitting the way I want them to. I don’t know why I ordered a meatball sandwich—maybe because it seemed romantically New York, maybe because the pizza looked like it was covered in dried glue. But the point is that the meatball sandwich comes one of two ways.

“Tomato or parmesan?” says the guy behind the counter, and I don’t know exactly what this means.

“Which is better?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Parmesan is cheese.”

And that, my friends, is good logic. The choice is clear. I’ll have the parmesan, because parmesan is cheese.