YodaEatsHotDogs

He walked down the bright street toward the vendor. In a soft voice, uttered: "one please." When asked if he wanted sauerkraut on it, Yoda politely declined. He liked his hot dogs with nothing but a small amount of ketchup and a liberal amount of mustard. As the vendor squirted the bright yellow sause on the frank, Yoda's eyes gleamed with anticipation. He could taste the juiciness of the weiner, the fresh taste of the bun together with the crisp taste of fresh mustard. He paid the vendor, this time not bothering to count the change as he would have were he not delerious with hunger and anticipation. That first bite was a sensory orgasm: exactly how he imagined it would be, but somehow, the experience was multiplied exponentionally. Inhaling the fresh air to further savor and enhance the taste of it, Yoda imagined his hunger was making this moment the paradise that it was. He was half sorrowful, in knowing that it was unlikely that such a sense of anticipation and decadance would occur again within his lifetime.