Nothing about the pizza’s exterior promises exceptional virtue: it sits on a dark square pan in the window, fat crust suggestive of excessive chewiness. Flimsy layers of cheese, tomato sauce and pepperoni on top deflects the gaze of unknowing passerbys. Sean is new to town and knows nothing of this pizza joint: he only caught a ride here since it was the only pizza open this late in his zip code. I tell him I am happy to wait for him as long as he gets me a slice. Money changes hands. He gets out of the car and suffers through the line of in-the-know-drunks that are lined up to carbo-load as a hangover prevention measure. He returns to the car with a couple of greasy slices in the signature checkered paper. He takes a bite. His expression goes from winter to spring. The sun comes out, the meadows are flushed with blooms. Unicorns play in the grass. “This is really good”, he whispers. “I know” I whisper back. |
1 Comment
K M
7/17/2017 04:20:25 pm
The BEST!
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also san franciscoA ridesharing driver, artist and a commentator operating out of San Francisco. A r c h i v e s
September 2016
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