Thanks to Susie, I developed a penchant for a combination of two specific toppings at my local pizzeria (the only good one that is). That deliciousness is found in sausage and olives. The great thingis that they really pile on the good stuff. Every time I get a slice with sausage and olives, the olives are plentiful to the point of falling off the slice with every bite. Well, I suppose it depends on what you find to be a great thing. If you’re looking to maintain the traditional cheesy taste of pizza, then the toppings basically overwhelm the slice. Which is why I got a slice of each: one plain, one with sausage and olives. Two slices in all.

That’s how I ordered my lunch. The nice Hispanic woman who looks very young for her age started adding the meat to my slice and put it in the oven. This is when I was texting Twitter with my update. Then all of a sudden, this fellow next to me said rather loudly, “Please man! Please! C’mon! Please man!” I turn my head slightly to the left. Standing next to me, by the glass case of pizza items is a black fellow around 5’8″ or so, average build and weight, was talking to the young Hispanic fellow who worked there, whose back was turned. Of course, they’ve got a mirror, so the Hispanic fellow is looking at this lunatic’s reflection.It was kinda odd. This guy used the word please. He was pleading, but only in words. His tone was aggressive and demanding. I wasn’t paying attention prior to the raising of his voice, so I’m not too sure what he was asking of the Hispanic guy. He was wearing a brown jacket with some kind of lettering in the back, a sky blue Avirex long-sleeve tee with a longer white tee underneath, light blue jeans, and brown boots.Anyway, I discreetly sized him up and didn’t find him to be an immediate threat. It would be useful tostayalert though, and I remained as such. He exclaims, “I work hard for my money man.” His demeanor changed from loud and demanding to something a little more humble. He asked me for a quarter, and I told him I hadn’t any change on me. Without pausing a beat, he asks me, “Buy me a slice of pizza?” I tell him I’ve got enough just for me. He says, “Oh, okay. Sorry.” He walks further into the pizzeria and the Hispanic guy says loudly and firmly, “Don’t bother the customers please.” The black guy just keeps walking, his body language expressing his defeat. He asks a couple of other people and this kinda old round faced Asian woman gave him a dollar. He walks back to the counter and asks how much a slice of pizza is, and I was rather surprised to hear, “Two twenty five,” come out of the lady’s mouth. I always buy a whole bunch of things and never really bothered to find out how much a single plain slice cost.

As I left with my lunch hot in a box (which contained a plain slice that I later found to be too heavily salted by my own hand), I saw the fellow looking around kind of lost. He looked at the corner deli and walked inside. I started wondering what his story was. He didn’t look or smell homeless. Why he was bothering people for a slice of pizza was beyond me. Maybe he had an unbeatable compulsion to eat a slice of good pizza. The smells that waft out of that pizzeria are admittedly very enticing. I could’ve given him some change and directed him to the Broadway Bakery pizzeria that wasn’t too far away where their slices of pizza, though not as tasty, were only $1.50. But he was inside the deli as it was. I wonder what he bought instead, wonder if he bothered anyone else. Alas, hunger took over my thoughts and I walked home briskly to watch The Office over a couple of slices of pizza.