If this ham sandwich were a piece of prose...
...one would not simply mention the sun rising at dawn (though that is of course redundant); one must also include the full splendor of the colors which paint the sky smiling upon the world’s stage minute-by-minute to the tune of a rooster’s crow and dust mites swirling in the air. We must also extend our imaginary eye to the bustling of milkmaids bringing in their heavy pails sloshing of rich milk to the dairy barn, and paper boys throwing the morning news onto people’s porches from their bicycles while a beagle chases him, barking. Someone’s clock radio clicks on, bringing into the room the soft strains of music as the fellow turns over in his pajamas to kiss his wife who lies in perfect repose still made up from the night before. Before long, the children — a boy and a girl — burst in, jumping on the bed saying “Daddy, Daddy, today we go to Disneyland!” while downstairs the coffee pot drips hot black Folgers into the carafe glinting in the now-risen sun. Someone in uniform cracks open the garden gate returning from WWII but only the cat jumps off the windowsill in recognition. It is both summer and winter at the same time, and in this perfect world the happy family will eat sandwiches for lunch — ham sandwiches, that look like this — only no-one will know exactly how they get it into their mouths, let alone swallow it all.
Also from this book: Planned Overs, Pacific Rim Job
