Pizza Month

Right before my pet flower Edward died, I made a solemn oath:  I will try a  new "bar style" pizzeria every Saturday in May.  "Yes, live for me!" Edward said right before passing, then he passed.  The first Saturday of May, Saturday, May 2, it was a pleasant late-Spring day.  I was going to Kinchley's Tavern in Ramsey, New Jersey for my first bar pizza of the month.  I purchased some pineapple and pretzels and boarded a NJ Transit train, not knowing if, or ever, I would return.  My stomach was feeling a little "off," perhaps from the prior evening in which I partook in massive quantities of Sichuan oils at Cafe China.  But never mind.  The train headed through the marshes of Eastern New Jersey.  I munched on pretzel and pineapple.  Around 45 minutes later I found myself in a mountainous region of New Jersey.  My Google Maps showed me there was a major highway I would need to cross to get to Kinchley's.  I was slightly disoriented and scared, and I saw a Mexican drifter heading off down a trail.  I decided to follow him, thinking that perhaps he also needed to cross the highway.  Soon, the Mexican drifter and I were upon the highway, and a mighty highway it was.  Various vessels of all shape and manner were whizzing by in both directions.  As far as I could see there was no way to cross the artery.  I continued following the drifter (I named him "Estevez" in my mind), but he (Estevez) soon entered a Best Western Motel, leaving me alone on the side of the high way.  I walked further but could see no way to cross the road.  I was feeling despondent, I do admit, and was considering giving up.  But a true adventurer never gives up!  I circumvented a strip mall and found an overpass which crossed the highway, and I took it!  It was a somewhat weird situation, with no real sidewalks, and I'm sure I appeared to be a drifter from, while not Mexico, perhaps Swarthmore College.  I made it to the other side and after 15 minutes of walking I made it to Kinchley's!  I took a seat at the bar.  "A frosty mug of birch beer!" I demanded.  Then I ordered a large, plain "fra diavolo" pie (the diavolo refers to the spicy nature of the tomato sauce).  The pie came.  It was a cheesy bastard, cheesier than most bar pies I've had.  The crust was thin but also had some nice bubbles.  It was an enjoyable pie.  The return to the train station was simple, now that I was an old pro.  On the train ride back I proudly reflected on all the dangers I faced and how my flower Edward would be happy that I had not given up.  I also thought about Estevez, the Mexican drifter, and thought that I should have brought him a slice of pizza.  Next time!  Upon arrival to the Pennsylvania Station I ventured down to 14th Street for a Peanut Buster Parfait at Dairy Queen. Adventure.