A Cultivated Man.

"Over the years, I've cultivated a certain elegant lifestyle," he explains, dipping a cold hot dog in mustard, some of which drips onto his underpants and the great hairy globe of his bare stomach. He bites off one end of the hot dog and wipes the spillage away with the remainder, shoving it in after its brother. Through a full mouth, flecks of processed meats and yellow sludge spattering down his chest: "...and I'm afraid I have grown accustomed to it. I can no more return to a less sybaritic way of life than you can return to a time without running water, or indoor plumbing. So no, sir, I will not be leaving this Dunkin Donuts, and no, I will not be purchasing anything. I've brought my own comestibles, as you can clearly see."