My Night Out

A miracle of nature is what they call me; no one would ever believe that I'm half a century old. it's my birthday and I'm at Grimaldi's--just what I needed. Cookie is behind the counter. She knows where the pizza goes and what you drink.
You walk in, you hear: "Have a seat. Red or white?"
"Be out shortly."
I like white pizza. The garlic paste is like candy.

I note across the room a set of batting eyes. She picks up a slice and bends it in the middle, then takes a bite. I can do that. Takes skill and some people don't know how. I can't see who she's with. I thought is was a guy from the bakery on 76th Street, but the hair's parted wrong--he's got nice shoes. They are winking, smiling, sipping so this is a date. Its different with Nanna and Pop; they talk about the family and the checkbook.

Last time I was here after my niece's baptism, I got the relatives a tour of the kitchen and we saw the coal-fired oven. Saw the garlic paste and olives, too.

Last time I was here I was on Jury Duty. Talk about your huddled masses. It was a cab ride here and back.