2003-11-26......12:07 p.m.......
every other friday

i remember in the summer, while working at the pizza joint, those small details that make memories more than still frame. the sound of country radio buzzing continuously overhead and overtop of the sounds of the oven belts rotating and the various chops and cuts of food preparation. buzzing like a lazy summer fly through those old and dusty speakers, the distortion making even the most acoustic performance sound like a fuzzy down-home tune output through old and dusty amps.

the tired creak of the screen door in the back as it swung back and forth in minute measurements on it's bent and rusted over hinges, and the way the setting summer sun always looked as it poured through the weave of the screen, all broken up into a million little squares. the smell of italian food and grass and sun-warmed asphalt. the warmth of the summer breeze as it came in bits through the front door with each group of entering customers and floated back to the kitchen before exiting into the summer evening once again via that cracked open, creaking, dusty screen exitway.

oh how we smiled and swung from the space between the front counters, or sat out in the dining room with cups of coca-cola or lemonade when customers were scarce. the picnic table out front where we would sneak out for break and watch the gleaming metal of 28th street pass by slowly in the rush hour traffic. hourly wage, the occasional tip, the monetary value mattered, yes, that is why we were there, but sometimes there's more to a job than what you can put in your pocket every other friday.


...and all sing in harmony, i am ok...

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kristin m dennis 2001-2007
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