3.2 Might Be Kind.
Despite having just eaten on my walk home, I smelled dough and profoundly turned around with intrigue. After walking in I immediately I had made a mistake and did not want to order but committed. The pizza was gloomily lit like a heroin addict seeking a vein on his arm. I asked for one pepperoni slice and had a confusing conversation with the man behind the counter who asked if I wanted 2 cheese pizzas to sit in several times before he realised after confirmation from myself a few times what I wanted. Now for the taste:
The Pizza tasted like a butter knife had been lightly dipped in tomato sauce, thinly spread across a slice of toast, sprinkled with a few shreds of mozzarella. A disappointing end to my New York experience. TLDR; shit ahhhhhhh.
