I came home from school to find a new pizza entering my home come friday night. It smelled delicious, looked delicious and my mom assured me it was delicious. But I can't just welcome a new pizza into my life without a little suspicion. I've been hurt too many times to open myself up just like that. It's sad, but it's true. I gazed warily at the crispy crust and the bubbling cheese over the thin dough. It was greasy in all the right places. Slowly, tentatively, as if for the first time, I lifted a long slice from the box and brought it to my mouth. My mom was smiling and I knew that my face was following suit. The pizza WAS delicious. In the months that followed, Little City Pizza found its place alongside City Pizza (unrelated), and Luna Pizza as a welcome house guest. Perhaps that's a bad analogy in that it means we eat our houseguests...but either way, it's a fantastic place for pizza, and it's if house guests taste like it does..well, let's just hope I don't get a late night craving.
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