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...
The stories of a man working hard to achieve financial peace.