> The important thing is that you wanted to get there after
>12, but before 3. At 3 they started giving throwaway stale
>slices to the drunkards making their way to the
>outer-boroughs, but at 12 the manager came in. The manager,
>like all managers, gave hell to his staff of underpaid workers
>and was more than a bit unrealistic about the working
>conditions of a corner pizza shop. But he really did love
>making pizza the right way; something that, it had to be said,
>did suffer when his watchful, annoying eye wasn't on the
>operation. He would come in at 12 on nights like these to
>make sure no one tried to get funny with the female cashiers,
>make sure the teens weren't taking extra from the drawer, do
>three hours, and leave it to the younger crew to lock up.
> His secret was that he didn't trust what he called "The
>canned shit." Instead of putting the sauce right on, he'd
>crush (hand crush) whole tomatoes and put miniscule bits of

minor point...i would say something like hand crush, mind you...parentheses are kinda antiseptic

>crushed garlic in the sauce, simmer for a few "goddamn"
>seconds, and then put it on the pizza. It wasn't a good
>"drunk" like your nightlife guides might say. It was just
>damn fine pizza that a few would acknowledge now and then.

yeah, i dont get the goddamn and drunk part.

> So, he was a difficult man, but he cared about his $1.75
>slices. You should stop in some time.

this is kinda confusing on the second read, since he leaves later.

> Ed sat down at the bar across the street and surveyed a
>room of 20 year olds playing 30. He never made any snide
>judgment or laughed under his breath, he just noticed that
>they wanted to be older than they were. Nothing wrong with
>that.

i would rearrange this, and nix the nothing wrong with that, unless ed is saying it.

> He was thinking about something. He scratched the upper
>part of his cheek as a bit of a nervous habit that started
>around his teenage years and never left him in the mid-30's
>that he was. A good friend of his always crowed about the
>fact that the cigarettes that left the bars of New York City
>hid the smell of body odor and vomit, but he never paid
>attention. One day there was cigarette smoke, the next there
>wasn't.
> Judith interrupted his third beer, the sight of her.
>Things ended badly between them, mainly because they never
>started. He equated the whole situation to being patted on
>the head and smiled at, but never actually taken seriously.
>He could never figure out if he was ok with all this, but he
>had to be. She was disappearing the way that unrequited loves
>always do. They just start to vanish one day and you know you
>can't make a dent in the whole affair. He had that feeling.

i think you can shorten this, or do something to it, but i dont know what.

> They were both there to see the same person. If they'd
>arranged to meet together at any point, it never would have
>happened. Here, he never would have guessed to meet her.
>That was a bit unfair.
> "Oh my God!" she was general excited to see him.
> "How are you?" the same back, but with a hint of knowing
>sadness, to be a bit poetic for a second. He heard she'd be
>there, but there was something a bit odd about seeing her in
>the flesh outside of their usual situation.
> They talked, people always do. But it didn't feel like
>anything. It was like reaching for something but not quite
>grabbing it. Oh well.
> He had to leave. "Aren't you going to hang out for a bit?
>I miss you," she said.
> "...I'm always going to miss you," he said, giving life to
>months of frustration.
> So as these things go, she stood silent but smiling,
>pretending to not fully get his meaning, and he gave a hug and
>walked out. Down the street and under the lights of clean but
>depressing convenience store, Ed broke into hysterical
>laughter and finished his walk home.

is that really his character? you know him better than i do.

> One time I was at the pizza place around 2:30. I was
>slurring my speech by then, but I recognized the manager. I
>waved a hello, and he gave a gruff response much like I
>expected. Anyway, he looks over at a guy making a pizza for
>the 4 o'clock rush as he pours out the sauce onto the dough.
>"What? You want me to..." the guy says. The manager, without
>even turning around starts to walk out the door and says, "Do
>whatever the hell you want."

i think the guy should say more...like, i think it would make the end stronger. not much more, but just finish his sentence.

>--Maurice
>