Sam, having slung hot dogs into buns on the street corner for the majority of his 35 years, had seen a lot. A lot of anger, a lot of hurt, a lot of disgust. He though he had seen it all until today. He served up the Ball Park Frank with sauerkraut as he usually did, hot off the grill and dripping with grease, and the blue collar recipient took it in hand, as they usually do, and generously dressed it with the brown spicy mustard that was the typical street corner fare. They never had time for much else--eating on the run, off to the next meeting. Eating the first bite before even leaving the corner. This time, that first bite was the last bite. He must have inhaled the saurkraut first, and before Sam knew it he was blue in the face choking. The Ambulance was round in a moment and as soon as they hopped out, they had the guy on the gtround and the driver unexpectedly was into Sam's Till and Sam, with out a thought, clocked him, and