Dave's Cosmic Subs

Dave owns some sub shops in the Cleveland/Akron area. I'm told there are a few in the south, but I don't frequent southern urban areas, so I can't say I've been to one outside of Ohio. Dave, most would call him a hippy, makes cosmic subs, hence the title of his franchise, "Dave's Cosmic Subs". Made with fresh cut cheese, fresh baked bread, and debatably fresh meat, they're pretty good. They're a nice lunch size, bigger than a Subway measly 6", but smaller than a titan of a Subway 12".

The one I frequent resides in the almost imaginary town of Hudson, Ohio. Hudson is quite a pleasant town. If you imagined a perfect place to raise children, you'd imagine thing similar to Hudson. It's got a good organic grocery, a Talbot's for middle-aged moms, a Persian carpet store that never seems to be open, a cupcake shop as a safe haven for moms and daughters to indulge in something wholesome (in more way than one), and a nice independent restaurant that serves a mean bleu cheese burger. On top of this, it has some of the best public schools in the state topped off with one of the best private high schools in the nation.

Stumbling into Dave's, skipping band, you'd find yourself in a place where having blood-shot eyes is nothing to be ashamed of. If you're a regular, the guys know your order. A lot of the guys who work there, also work for Martini Skate and Snow, which is dope shop that makes a fortune off of middle schoolers looking to update their kicks. If the guys liked you, you could chill in Martini and watch Forum's That on repeat for hours.

I always ordered the World Famous; the chicken and bacon makes for a good heavy sub. Band starts at 11:15, so you're a few minutes ahead of the lunch rush. You get your sub, wrapped in thick white paper, overflowing with Dave's fresh cheese. I'm not sure where they got their cheese from, but picking the last bits off the paper was routine. A blue-tooth crew would probably roll in at this point. Stunning how all of them could talk at once, and not one would be talking to the other. After them, a daughter and mother would arrive after a tactfully scheduled doctor's appointment, in matching North Face jackets and Sperry Topsiders. Dads would generally be wearing the same thing, but switch in hiking boots for the Sperrys.

Maybe a couple kids from school would show, but usually, you could sit with your friends, who unlike you, were wealthy on Gatsbian proportions, and get away from everything that bothered you. We'd sit, talk about music, comics, video games, and school gossip. It's funny, when you leave a school of four hundred and enter a school of twelve hundred, there's a whole lot less to gossip about.

After Dave's cleared out, you could watch the BMWs, Mercedes, and Acuras drift by; made hazy by the good food and a general sense that you were alone with your friends. If you worked up the courage, you could drag yourself from your seat and up the block back to school. You can't skip classes like math, 'cause then you get a call from the Academic Dean. You don't want that.

The fact that a place like Hudson exists never ceases to amaze me. Like something out of a book, it doesn't see much of poverty. I asked someone who lived in Hudson "where do the minimum wage workers live?" He looked at me, not sure what I meant at first, then thought to himself. "I have no idea" he replied.