ROE INTENSE

I delivered to a fight Monday night. Pizza accompanies a lot of fights of all different kinds. WWF. Boxing. MMA. People spend all kinds of money to spectate those events. I remember watching wrestling and having pizza delivered this one time. It was my stepdad, my sister, maybe my brother and I. I got smacked that night for some reason. I remember being hit across the chest. Maybe I mouthed off. Maybe I made a face. I think I said something to my sister that I shouldn’t have. I don’t remember. I just remember the consequence. It stung in a way that has lasted eighteen years. See? Fights. Pizza. I pulled up to a large apartment building on South 13th Street. It used to be a school. You might know the place. It is across from Zesto’s, right by the zoo entrance. I hopped up the steps. Not like a bunny. I hopped like a svelte delivery man. I opened the door to the vestibule and stepped inside. I tested the inside door. It was locked. There was no code on the receipt. I dialed the n...

Monday and Tuesday were slow delivery days. I made over $35 each day in tips/mileage. I had a good time with the people I work with. I try to work hard. I try to appreciate hard work. It pays off in spades. OK, not spades. Money and stories. It was my first or second delivery Monday night. The receipt said 2301 S 15th St. I found the spot and saw what looked like a college dorm. I readied my clipboard with the purple-sparkle hairpin. I got out of the car and moved toward the front lawn. That’s when I saw the crucifix on the outside wall. There was stained glass. The construction was a bit older. Lawn ornaments of the catholic variety smiled at and/or blessed me from the stoop. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I waited. I looked through the side window. There was no one there. I knocked. What was this place? A nunnery. I was delivering pizza to a nunnery. Or maybe it was a church office? I looked to my right. The letters “WS PAPER” reflected what little light they could back at me...