Finnian Burnett

Storyteller

In flash class, we were prompted to write about moving from a city to a small town or vice versa. This was my result.

The Town’s Only Takeout

Pizza delivery again. The piles of extra cheese almost hide the fact that the dough is chewy and bland. Remember that vegan Reuben we used to get from McCalister’s, my wife says as she swallows another bite. Remember that thin crust calzone we had at the Italian restaurant in old town? I remember that calzone and the Reuben and the baklava we’d eat standing up at the little food truck on the corner of Main and 67th Ave and how we’d sometimes run to the grocery store at 2 AM because one of us was sleepless and we wanted hot chocolate. We love our new house in the country with loads of space and miles of unsullied woodlands and no drunk men peeing off balconies late on Saturday night. But—Remember that Shawarma place with the life-size Darth Vader statue in the dining room? My wife pulls another slice of the town’s only pizza –this is fine, she says, her jaws working to get through another bite.

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