Jumbo Slice

"Can you slice that for me?"

"I dunno," he says, "we're a pizza place, we don't really know how to slice." He says it smilingly but the guy behind him rolls his eyes. They deal with countless drunks on a nightly basis. I am not one of them.

"Wanna buy this brownie?" he asks me. "I keep sticking it by the oven so it's nice and warm." I say no, although it it tempting despite the sense.

The record, they say, is seven. I don't know how any one person could sit here and eat seven of these things. Must've been mighty hungry, or crazy drunk, or gotten some really bad news. What it would take for me to eat a near whole one of these pies.

He slices it down the middle. Back at home I open the box. "Get Parmesan or peppers?" and I have to shake my head no. We fold the pizza hotdog style but it's still cumbersome to eat. Too long and too thin and there's a reason they cut it the way they do. I always say to try it like the house says before you go changing things.

Late nights are a time all their own, they are reserved, set apart from tomorrow and even earlier today. You can get away with things like this, you're not even yourself, you can explain it all tomorrow. Box after box piles up, a carpet dusted with chilli flakes. Tomorrow we won't be hungry but it doesn't matter because tonight we were and we ate.