No matter. The delis were all gone, anyway. And with the explosions every other day, who could have the stomach for pastrami, even if there was, god forbid, any to be had?
“There is, however, always room for a knish,” BK thought. But no knishes either. They won’t allow it.
An explosion rocked the sidewalk beneath him.
BK kept walking.
After all, he hadn’t been swallowed up. No need to see who had.