Sometimes you can be so close to something yet not know it’s there. We were just four suburban teens sitting outside the now defunct Foxfire Café. The fact that the line had snaked outside to the sidewalk was a bad sign. We just wanted to be one of the lucky ones to exchange $6 for a hand stamp and admittance, but we knew with every person that stepped in front of us in line, our chances dwindled. It was clear the Dillinger Four show was sold out; it was just a question of how many of us would be turned away. As we sat there agonizing our concert fate, we watched pink box after pink box walk by. We weren’t even sure where they were coming from, or what was in the boxes, but we wanted it. We were torn between waiting in the line that would most certainly lead to denial, or the mysterious pink box leading us to the unknown.
We followed the path of the pink box down the block to the unknown. Leading to the best pizza we’ve ever had, to the pizza of light, Pizza Lucé.
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