Pizza City

by Nic Olson

I got home from French.
I wanted Pizza City so bad.
Nine dollars.
Extra Large.
Lundi et Mardi.
I fell hard on the skateboard ride there.
Speed wobbles.
They were playing erotica on the HD TV,
In the restaurant.
I blistered the roof of my pizza hole.
I skateboarded uphill home,
XL box in hand.
The pizza was cold upon arrival.

This is how I know.
I’m in the right city.

At my happiest, this is what I look like.