The toppings sloughed then plopped and sunk in the cloudy water below. Pepperoni, olives, sausage chunks, and peppers...
Celia ate her pizza in a murky bath.
Tepid was the water and the pizza.
Filled with dismay was Celia.
The pizza, the thinnest of the sort, sad and limp—vying to touch the water—hung over her hand like the neck of a sick giraffe.
Tactless was Celia in getting the pizza to her mouth.
The cheese, like lumpy glue.
The dough, raw and gummy.
The toppings sloughed then plopped and sunk in the cloudy water below.
Pepperoni, olives, sausage chunks, and peppers.
The bath wasn’t working. Nothing was working.
She didn’t feel royal. She wasn’t relaxed.
Beauty she felt none.
Celia smelled of salt and grease and in her mouth, the taste of curdled milk.
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