Bradley Warshauer
fiction. essays. journalism. copywriting. about.
October 28, 2013
Storms don’t stop the Underground Pizza Man from making his deliveries. But tonight’s storm is different. It shouldn’t tear limbs from trees, shouldn’t drench the streets with water, and shouldn’t burn the black sky with blue-white flashes. And yet it is: Inland, a dying cyclone has reopened its eye. The Pizza Man grips the wheel of his truck so the wind doesn’t fling it across the road. He doesn’t ask the wind to to stop because, tonight, the wind isn’t listening.
Read more

Storms don’t stop the Underground Pizza Man from making his deliveries. But tonight’s storm is different. It shouldn’t tear limbs from trees, shouldn’t drench the streets with water, and shouldn’t burn the black sky with blue-white flashes. And yet it is: Inland, a dying cyclone has reopened its eye. The Pizza Man grips the wheel of his truck so the wind doesn’t fling it across the road. He doesn’t ask the wind to to stop because, tonight, the wind isn’t listening.

Read more

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