The Old Man and the Pizza

He was an old man (thirty years old, which feels old) who had been out of the house for eighty-four minutes without having a little something to nibble on. The night air moved slowly and the odors of the city were unkind. He had eaten dinner at seven thirty, but it was merely a salad. It was not enough to sustain him for an arduous journey nearly twenty whole blocks from his apartment.

He had gone out with friends to watch the game, which had long since been over. They had gone their separate ways and he set his eyes and heart upon something to nibble on. He wandered further into the unfamiliar after finding a pizza place on Google Maps, even though the search chipped away at his phone’s precious little battery life.

The place he sought did not appear far. He steadied his resolve and began his trek to the pizza place. He walked past the closed nail salons and bodegas glowing like the fireflies Owl City sang about. The dot on Google Maps seemed to be as far now as it was when he began. But he was determined. He would have his slice to nibble on.

Between him and the nibble lay six blocks. The wind pressed against him and the crosswalk lights taunted him with delay. But he moved unceasingly. He would have his nibbles.

His feet found the pizza place and he soared through the door. His luck was impeccable as they were just about to retire for the day.

“One slice, please my good man.” He said before immediately questioning why he said it like that.

He waited patiently, searching his phone for dopamine as the smell of garlic and oil prepared him for his nibble. The man behind the counter placed the slice in a soon-to-be greasy bag and the nibble was given over the old man. This triumph was ecstasy unbound.

He left the pizza place with force in his step and his phone in hand, ready to call a ride. But when he looked at the phone, it stared back at him with darkness. The phone was dead. He lamented not charging it and cursed the heavens.

The old man knew he must walk all the way back through the treacherous concrete waters of midtown, would his slice still be yummy when he returned?

Just as the journey began, he was approached by a friend from years ago who went by the name “Big Gus.” His energy was large and his appetite was legendary. The old man knew Big Gus would set his sights on the slice as soon as the smell cemented itself in Big Gus’s untrimmed nostrils.

“Hey man, I’m starving.” Big Gus said forebodingly. “Oh is that pizza?” The words struck the old man like a harpoon.

“Yeah, want a bite?” the old man knew he must offer a slice so as not to soil the bro code. Big Gus had his slice and as soon he came he vanished, taking a bite of the slice with him.

The old man was determined to salvage the remains of his nibble. He continued his stride, slowing ever so slightly as sleepiness set in. Rain began to fall and the old man knew the greasy white bag would be no shield for his slice.

On and on he went until he passed the Blank Street near his apartment and knew he was almost home. Out of the dark wet night appeared his roommate, Aaron, preparing for a night out.

“Oh sick, a slice? Can I have a bite bro” Another verbal harpoon into the old man’s chest.

“Sure, bro.” he said with grief. His roommate cut into the slice, taking even more from the old man than he could ever know. After a brief dap-up, Aaron was on his way and the old man was left wet, and with a soggy half slice of pizza, keys in hand.

He entered his apartment and unfurled the slice only to see it in gross conditions.

He knew he would not have his delicious slice but he had something more: the knowledge that whenever there is a nibble to be eaten, he would not let the fear of Big Gus deter him.