The walls were littered with paintings. I assumed they were the man behind the counters paintings–mostly because the disfigured portraits had the amateur’s charm: a composition, maybe, only a creator could love.
I ordered a slice of the cheese pizza. It was obvious that it was not his devotion. He had his Pizza Place, maybe handed down by him from generations past–and he ran it. Maybe only to have the walls.
There was a radio atop his big archaic pizza oven. There was a debate of whether philosophy was still relevant, given that science was capable of bringing the world to a concreteness. The man on the radio who debated on the side of philosophy stated, “Given that this question is philosophical in nature, I believe philosophy is still important to science.”
I gave a sigh of relief. There was still some room for me to philosophize and eat pizza and for this man to paint and make pizza.