overdo it.

frank pepe knew what was up,
and in the century since he started firing up his blazing brick ovens,
not much has changed.
and why would it?
seriously,
that world-famous apizza pie for your face is just as expert as ever.
i was so hungry, i hammered away at half my pizza before i remembered
that real-life documentation requires photographic proof.
ha.
a plain tomato pie looks a lot like a traffic accident fatality,
but it tastes like fresh perfection,
and that's no lie.
check the slices-missing-type teleport:

woooooooooooohoooooooo.
i LOVE pizza.
i especially love the classic traditional taste of the best and burliest old-school
exxxtra-italiano heritage deluxe classic explosion of excellence that i'grew up on.
do we still know all the people who work there?
yeah.
the thing about getting old, but also being expert,
is that we make an impression on those we encounter,
and it is a lasting one, at that.
the blood-curse of our battle-beastly DNA means we've all got it,
and we know it, too.
but, like, what do we do with it?
we eat all the pizza, ahead of the looooong waiting lines outside,
and in full fresh-to-death shark-gluttonous effect, at that.
we doo-doo that freaky friendliness sh!t, son.
believe it.
.......
but,
on the way to connecticut,
when the roads were clogged with slow-scootin' scenery-soaking suck-slapping
sh!t-salad bike weakness,
and the blood sugar in my serum was dropping off fast from al the boiling road rage
a line of traffic can conjure in the cauldron of my chest cavity,
what did we do?
we fattied up.
huh?
no, you're misunderstanding me, neighbors-
we fattened our faces full of fresh bean and rice.
y'feel me?
one two pound diaper of dopeness is the only sure for traffic.
that's the truth.
check the chipotle-type teleport:

blarping out can't concern you on a road trip.
that's a thing.
and when i'm unconcerned, i'm easily twice as hungry,
due to the empty space in my stomach where i normally keep my conscience.
*
y'know what was a massive mistake to retry after a long while without?
boba.
mmhmmm.
boba.
teleport:

what do you duders know about it?
turns out,
it's secretly a disaster waiting to happen,
like,
the tea with those big black balls for your mouth in it....
boba gave me a tumtum ache to eleven, and then some,
and i exploded with full-force berserker butthole fury for days.
nothing can temper a trip like a bellyfull of poison.
damn.
my suggestion is-
never trust a weirdie when they swear a magic treat is vegan.
i suspect that the thai tea was actually a terrorist attack in disguise.
in turn,
i had an interesting few days, for sure.
ew.
***********
guys,
my whole trip revolved around food.
that's real.
did i have falafel?
don't be dumb.
of course i had falafel.
fiery falafel, in fact.
at the pita spot.....that's the actual name, even.
check the teleport:

bam!
spicy hot,
drippy wet tahini,
garlic hummus to the max,
lemony pink pickled cabbage,
and crispity crawnchy falafel balls, y'all.
i'm about that decadent sandwich life.
forever.
too much is the right amount,
except for bobarrhea.
less of that would be okay;
never quiet, never soft.....