ode to the senegalese chicken peanut soup at the sac

oh dear sweet, rich senegalese chicken peanut soup from the sac. i think i may be falling for you. in general, i loathe the sac and its available foodstuffs. i would rather eat the contents of a geriatric diaper than ever consume another chicken garlic ranch wrap. my relationship with the sac has grown cold and distant. i simply get in, get my fruit and milk, the occasional cup of prepackaged cereal, and get the hell out. that godforesaken excuse for a food court is the shady right light district full of things waiting to kill me or contaminate my body and i am the lost virginal patron. but then, like a reformed gangster with a newly aligned moral compass, you emerged dear soup. i was merely picking up some feta- i just had to use my meal plan to get my money's worth- and there you were. among the ministrone's and chowders. so exotic. so inticing. your ingredient list made me salivate and before i knew what i was doing, i had broken my code and was ladling you into a cardboard cup. it was the most worth-while transgression i have ever committed. now i find myself making stops in the sac, just to see if you're around. on most days, you're a no show. replaced by sweet corn chowder and chicken noodle poop. but the days you are there- dear god. i'm on you faster than the soup nazi on elaine. you may not be entirely good for me, but as far as i'm concerned you are the only redeeming thing about the sac. and i am in love. so in love, i would marry you if society was more open to soup/girl love. but until we reach that point, i will just have to look forward to our little rendezvous near the salad bar. until then my creamy love. xoxox Caitlin