To order a sandwich press 24377

Peter stepped into the sunshine and stretched, letting out a small sigh as he did so. Moving to a new city is always difficult, and while it gave the opportunity to meet new and interesting people, see new and interesting sights, and eat new and interesting foods, unpacking and getting the house ready to live in was a pain. Peter spun the key to the apartment lazily around his finger, his eyes following it closely. "Let's see if it is spinning at a constant rate of about 3 revolutions per second, the key has a mass of about 8.5 g, the angle is 24 degrees to the horizontal, and the key's center of mass, is about 3 cm from the center of mass of my finger. That would mean that the force of the key on my finger would b-' Peter shoved the key into his pocket. 'I'm thinking too much again' he realized, shaking his head. He was supposed to report to the police headquarters tomorrow which left today to explore the city and unpack; of course he needed to eat at some point, and since he didn't have any food back in his apartment, he was going to a restaurant. He sighed, wasn't there anywhere good to eat in the city near here? 'Well I guess a deli will do,' he thought, walking across the street to get the deli there.

After perusing what the menu had to offer, Peter ordered a sandwich. It took a couple of minutes to find a nice table although this is because, as with all small delicatessens with an outside the patio there were none that didn't have gum stuck under the table. When Peter finally found the lesser of evils he sat down and took out a pocket magnetic chess board. Peter finished the board set up as his number called signaling his sandwich was ready. He sat down at his table with a 9 layer sandwich staring at it wondering where to start. Peter dug a toothpick out of his coat pocket and used it to measure the size of the sandwich then compared it to the size of his mouth. He then proceeded placing a napkin on the sandwich and pushed down with both hands. Taking the napkin off, he looked over the sandwich and, deeming it good, the great detective Peter Haines lifted the just-large-enough-to-fit-inside-of-his-mouth-sandwich towards his mouth.

"Hello,"Â? spoke an agreeable voice to Peter's left. The sandwich stopped halfway to Peter's mouth as Peter's slowly swiveled in their sockets to stare at the man. The man seemed to be about 5' 6"Â?, but he was leaning on a cane and slouching which made it harder to tell. The fact that he was mostly bald which showed through the mesh baseball cap, along with the kindly look on his face gave the general impression that he could have passed for almost anyone's kindly old grandfather.

Peter slowly looked the man over which allowed enough time for a tomato to fall into his lap. "Oops, sorry, let me help clean that up,"Â? the old man said starting to go for the napkins. "I'll get it. It's fine."Â? Peter assured him quickly, taking some napkins. As fate would have it, Peter had picked to wear his "spill-proof"Â? pants today. Supposedly there was a chemical in the fabric that caused spills to flow off, of course if the surface tension was broken on the water then it would act like normal, so the pants still went through the washing machine well. Peter had three pairs of each of the three colors and hadn't been disappointed yet. The tomato wiped of relatively easily, and Peter sighed and put the napkins by the side of his plate, he would throw them out after he was done eating.

He started to reach for his sandwich and stopped and looked to his left to see that the old man was still standing there. "Is there something I can help you with?"Â? Peter asked politely. The old motioned towards the pocket chess board, "While it can be fun for some to play by themselves, normally it is more enjoyable to have an opponent,"Â? the old man spoke nonchalantly. Peter gave a small grin, "Only when there is a worthy opponent about,"Â? he acknowledged. The old man smiled at the challenge, revealing two full rows of teeth that were probably fake. The old man sat down across from Peter, "Well, I used to play a game or two in my day,"Â? the old man said speaking in a way that indicated that the number of games the man had played had probably breached the triple digits with room to spare. The man won the coin toss but decided to have Peter play white. Peter's first move was, P C-2 to C-3 (pawn at C-2 moves to C-3) and awaited the old man to make his move. The old man's hands shook as he tried to grab one of the small magnetic chess pieces to make his move, but his fingers were unable to wrap around the piece that he was trying to grab. 'Parkinson's Disease?' wondered Peter bemusedly, 'Well there will be time to think about that after the game'. "Would it be easier if you tell me which pieces to move and where to put them?"Â? Peter suggested politely, trying not to cause his opponent to feel bad about the fact that he couldn't pick up the pieces. The old man brought his shaking hand back into his lap, "Yes, Pawn at H-7 to H-5."Â?

The game took the rest of lunch, only pausing so that Peter could take a bite out of his sandwich. He had to admit the old man was very good but in the end Peter finally won the game, although it was a close victory. The old man seemed a bit out of it, making a beginner mistake then following up with a set-up that an expert could plan. Peter wanted to say as much without insulting the man. "I made quite a few mistakes in that game."Â? The old man said. Peter nodded; it seemed the problem was solving itself, "You're out of practice,"Â? Peter shrugged. The old man smiled, "No excuses for me, you played a good game and I would be thrilled to play again with you sometime soon, but,"Â? he held up a finger, "don't expect me to be as easy to beat next time."Â? Peter laughed and picked up the rest of his unfinished sandwich and switching the label in his head from 'lunch' to 'dinner'. "Sure, maybe another day we can play again,"Â? He shook hands with the man and started the walk back to his apartment, smiling pleasantly at the person who had been sitting at the next table and staring at him. The person quickly turned back to what they were eating. Peter walked on pulling out his white notebook and pencil as walked to jot down a couple notes:

Ghosts can have Parkinson's?

Chess playing ghost at deli (caution advised he may or may not know of his death)

Peter put away the notebook. It had taken him 3 years of on and off work to figure how to 'shake hands' with a ghost. Apparently, they feel your hand more then you feel theirs, so you just need to keep your hands generally touching and they will think they're shaking. Half-eaten sandwich in hand, Peter went up to his apartment room to finish unpacking.