On the second-to-last day of my time on the Bronx Grand Jury, we ordered pizza for lunch. There were leftovers and one of my fellow jurors, a full-bodied and robust woman, told me, “Save that for the mornin, baby. I don’t care if it’s cold, my stomach don’t don’t know what time it is, only knows that it’s hongry.”
We’ve covered pizza here lately, but can we ever talk too much about it? Didn’t think so.
Peep this from Theeatenpath.