As I stare fixedly out the window at the grey, rainy winter afternoon, my mind meanders, eventually settling strangely enough on fundamentals.
It is fundamentals that are the building blocks of society, without which culture collapses like an agitated soufflé.
The fundamental nature of pizza, like the edge of a sharpened chef’s blade, is that it is meant to be piping hot, delivered to your doorstep in a brown, slogan-covered cardboard container by a pimply-faced teen who refers to everyone, regardless of age, gender, or ethnicity, as “you guys.”
Waiting for a pizza while sitting at a linen-covered table with china and non-disposable silverware is probably one of the sins they say Jesus died for.
As I stare fixedly out the window at the grey, rainy winter afternoon, my day grows brighter as my right index finger pushes speed dial and the voice at the other end says cheerfully “Dante’s Slice, can I take your order?”
Desert Dweller 