The very crappiness of the sandwich comprises its appeal: the soft and pillowy bread, tasting only of sugar and air; the pink, slippery meats, flesh compressed; the pale, sweating cheese, soft and fatty; the pale pink tomatoes, oozing water; the lettuce shredded, so that it has lost all its juiciness and bounce. Imagining the sandwich there, in front of me, I sniff the scent of fleshly happiness, and, more faintly, a belch. When something is an object of lust all that is disgusting about it, all that is second-rate, vulgar, and careless, becomes part of its potent charm. In this way lust, whose interest is wide-ranging, seems to enjoy an advantage over love, which is attracted only to what is beautiful, and good.