Malcom's was an old saloon across town. The place hadn't seen any maintenance in decades. Dust hung on the place like a coat of paint. I had started working the night shifts to pay off my tab and earn a little for a train ticket back east.
The owner was a slack-jawed Irishman from South Cork. He had gotten it into his head to make a special meal a day. So he got a chalk board and wrote, "Tuesday: Polish Taco." It was half a sow kidney stuffed with chicken and onion. As far as I know it doesn't have a thread of polish roots.
No one bought the special. No one ever ate there. So the owner never made another special and never bothered to take the chalk board down. So everyday was Tuesday: Polish Taco day.