Bánh Mì Bounty

"What a great picture!" said my assistant, H., pointing to the screensaver. We were sitting in a coworker's office, discussing build out plans. At least they were. I was furtively looking out the window, hoping to locate the police car that had distracted me with its siren.

"Thanks," said our coworker. "I took it in Ireland last year."

"Snag's a photographer," said H.

I heard my name and refocused.

"What?" I said.

"You were taking pictures in your office yesterday afternoon," she continued. "Remember?"

"No," I said. "Liar."

Our coworker considered us with increased interest. "What were you photographing?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"His sandwich," said H.

"You took a picture of a sandwich?" asked our coworker.

"To show to his wife," H. said.

"Why did you want your wife to see it?" he asked me.

"This is a stupid conversation," I replied.

"He wanted her to know how delicious it was," H. added.

"Be quiet," I suggested.

"What did your wife say?" asked our coworker.

"What would your wife say?" H. inquired.

"That it's weird to photograph a sandwich," said our coworker.

"Bingo," said H.

"It was delicious," I said.