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Oh Christ, I've gone
and done it again. I swore up and down I was done with this shit-ass
chain, but I found myself needing something to keep my head from spinning
into low blood sugar oblivion. So I moseyed up and down Eighth Avenue
looking for something that fit the bill--something not greasy, heavy
or expensive. And, voila, up popped this scuzzy Subway franchise.
Situated between one of those nasty White Castle/Taco Bell/Church's
Chicken (but not really) combo joints that specialize in satisfying
nobody but the rats in the storeroom, and a cut-rate, bootleg sneaker
store, the edifice of this Subway looks to either be crumbling or
dealing with a serious case of the schmeg. So I shut my eyes, held
my breath and scooted through the door before a hypodermic wielding
nut job could give me a mainline of the HIV. And it was like being
home. The mixed stench of that specially concocted Subway baked bread
and an undertone of bleach that smells sort of like a nasty staph
infection or festering WWI trench wound hit me full in the face. I
ordered my usual turkey and air sandwich, refused the meal deal and
got the hell out of there. The meal satisfied my hasty criteria, although
next time I'll remember to make taste, value and made-from-something-organic
priorities. [MF]
Other Locations:
Subway
(Carnegie Hill)
Subway (Hell's Kitchen)
Subway (Midtown West)
Subway (Midtown West 2)
Subway (Murray Hill)
Subway (Murray Hill 2)
Subway (Times Square)
Subway (Times Square 2)
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