PIZZA
When you are six, eleven-tghirty is the middle of the night. It's also the bewitching hour. It is when last calls can be placed at the pizza place down the hill. Pickup only. Last call for delivery is eleven PM. But my grandfather didn't leave for his night shift at the post office until quarter after eleven...or maybe I am remembering it all wrong. Anyway, that was when my grandmother could order pizza. Half pepperoni, half mushroom, all drown in oil. My uncle would pick it up. Nana would wake me for late-night CBS, pizza, and obligatory root beer floats.
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