The Lunch Bandit

It was hot, the kind of hot that gets into your skin and comes pouring out every pore of your body.  

Mr. Moskowitz, history teacher extraordinaire, made his way through the mosh pit that comprised the first floor between periods four and five with only one thought on his mind.  And as he was pushed and bumped, purposefully taking two steps forward for each step back, that thought drove him on, on to that next room, until finally, with a last irresistible shove, he ambled into the teacher’s lounge.

Mr. Moscowitz opened the refrigerator with great expectation.  He removed the brown paper bag that bore his name and opened it.  But when Mr. Moscowitz unwrapped the wax paper, he discovered that someone had taken a bite of his salami on rye—the salami on rye that had haunted his every waking moment since midway through his first daily lecture on manifest destiny.

Who could have done such a dastardly thing?