In Jersey, you ate pizza by the slice, fast, folded, back against the wall. You faced the door, wary, watchful. Mouth shredded, you grabbed your soda to go. You had things to do. Knowwhutimean?
In Chicago, you sat at a table. The pizza was big as a cow and you ate it like a freaking steak. That’s how they do there. Sometimes two layers to fuel up. You lingered with friends until stuffed to bursting. Baby, it’s a blizzard outside.
Now, in SoCal, I nuke a frozen pizza alone in isolation after Lysol-ing the box. The new normal.
Written for the Carrot Ranch Challenge.
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