What to eat

I landed in Boston. I am in the South Station bus terminal, waiting for my connecting ride.
I am really hungry and have three mediocre options to choose from: (1) McDonalds (2) d'angelo sandwich shop (3) Honey Dew Donuts.

Now I could go with the safest option: McDonalds a.k.a. "the golden arch of capitalism." It may be over processed garbage, but it's garbage I know. It's garbage I trust. In many ways, it's like finding a reliable rest stop on a long car ride. Sure I may be able to find one that doesn't smell of antiseptic or has repressed homosexuals staring at my wang as I stand in front of the urinal. On the other hand, the innate racism I have has me fearing change in any capacity. Yes this new rest stop might be better, however, it could be far worse. I might get stabbed. I could bleed out and die. Worse yet, there might be black people there.

The second option appeals to my sense of entitlement. The food is most likely not much better than the diabetes and obesity combo served at McDonalds, but d'angelos sounds nicer. The name is Spanish or possibly even some kind of Italian. It has faux classy option such as lobster rolls, which will most likely give me dysentery. And best of all, I can simply tell my friends the name of the place and their imaginations will conjure up an image that isn't complete shit.
The third eating choice, Honey Dew Donuts, is the epitome of trashiness. I would rather eat a soggy sandwich from the Newsstand, then indulge in one of those lard drenched contraptions. I am sure in the long run my arteries will thank me.
In the end, I decided to go with a quesadilla from d'angelo. The choice certainly fulfilled my inflated sense of self, but lets just say my expectations did not meet reality.