Like an old abandoned town in the west, a desert town, closed casinos, theaters, dust, sun, there remains a saloon, a parlor... I enter through the swinging bar doors tables vanishing off into the wooden darkness, barstools in front of me, at the counter a couple pizzas on silver trays, and old Italian man, white apron, flour, I ask for a slice. $2... I've always known this was the greatest pizza, hoping to return here in and of my dreams, sometimes not quite reaching it yet knowing it's there, nearby... I bite into the thin dough perfectly burnt, soft, chewy, salty, earthy, as fulfilling as meat; the sauce, tangy, alive as blood; the cheese, creamy, held together perfectly as flesh. I could eat a dozen of these slices. I'm so glad to have found this place again in my dreams... I awake in bed covered with blood, chewed chunks from my cheeks and tongue, half of my teeth fallen out