Bottom Dwelling
I walk around the city with my bible under my arm: the newest, glossiest edition of the local rag, rating the city’s best cheap eats. That’s when it hits me — I might as well be called Shrimp. Small, curled up, and festering upon itself, that’s the shrimp. I had walked past Lazzo’s, #3 on the list, so many times in the scramble of the alphabetland blocks downtown, the helter of mismatched storefronts I found so hard to take seriously. It didn’t even resemble a pizza place, with its blue-and-white hand-lettered sign, so un-Italian in my sensory lexicon. I was on my way to take a...
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