pizza

I hate having cold feet. I swear my toes just transformed into ice cubes. “How much longer? Are we done yet?”

No answer.

“HOW MUCH LONGER?” No answer. Is it too much to answer my question? Impolite ass! I stand here like a scarecrow, holding the receiver. The roof isn’t as romantic as I imagined. Not at all. Pigeon poop. Cold red and grey bricks. Waterproof pare. Tar sticking to my slippers. Ugh… “Answer meeeheee. Hooooow muuuuuuuch looooongeeer? Don’t leave me standing here like an idiot!” Damn you Bob! This isn’t what I thought of, when asked to help catching a signal…

I’d rather be sitting on the couch, staring at the telly, stroking Cinnamon and eating popcorn, if he wasn’t so cute… Yes he is, and he knows it. My neighbor, Bob, is an exotic looking guy, tall and slender, with green eyes, dark  curly hair, and light olive skin-tone. He’s got lovely lips, and he’s a wonderful kisser.

And a big liar. He lives here, for two years now, and tells me ´bout a week ago, that he isn’t native. I didn’t get it the first time, so he had to spell it out. Not native. Not native to Earth. No earthling…

The penny dropped.

“Back!” He yells from behind. “I’ve got Pizza!”

“Back?! But… BUT! When did you go?! Never mind… Pizza, hm? You love that junk food, don’t you?” Gosh. Why do I even put up with this guy?

“Yes, love. I love the food on this planet. You have no idea, what I’m used to… Don’t ask! You would’t want to kiss me ever again. And that is something I’d really want to avoid.”

This was something. I admit. Pretty amazing, seeing him rolling the whole pizza up, biting and swallowing. Without chewing. Famished, seemingly. “Put that receiver down, for now. We’ve got time…” He waves me over. “This is for you,” he shoves a pizza box over. “Salami.”

“So, what’s your home world like?” Curiosity. “I’ve got the weirdest ideas. And I’ll keep making things up, till you tell me. This is torture! Won’t you tell me more, please! I want to know, how it is. What’s your family like? Can I see some pictures? You have some pictures, don’t you?”

“Home is a state of mind.” He says bluntly, and keeps on guzzling.

I think I hit the soft spot. Mhm, pretty much, yes. Home is a state of mind? Could be.

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