We gathered, as always, on the first Sunday of the month, at the place where our friendship had begun five years ago, back when we were still in high school and working in the kitchen. Where jokes had been tossed about more often than the pizza dough in our hands. The restaurant went by the redundant name of “Pop’s Pizza Pies,” christened in the late ’60s when some people seemed to have no idea that the word “pizza” was Italian for “pie.” The owner, Kevin O’Neil, didn’t have a clue either.
On this certain day, Jerry’s voice boomed across the crowded room as he raised his Pilsner glass. “Here’s to pretty Tessa. And here’s to catching the scumbag who killed her.” ….
(Read the rest of my story, “As Always,” here on OMDB! magazine)