I’m in my room, which is an apartment in a high-rise. White paint, somewhat spacious. I look at my computer books sitting on a milk-crate used for a mini-bookshelf. They are old and useless now. Newer and more convenient information is available on the internet. I remember that I keep them for sentimental reasons. I look through the books. There is maybe one page of sentimental attachment in each book. Time to get rid of these books.
Back at Pizza Hut. Back at the cut table. Things seem nice and easy, only the pizzas aren’t matching the tickets. I wait for the mismatches to clear up, but they don’t. I begin to label the pizza boxes with marker, then realize that one of the pizzas is double boxes and the ink on the inside rather than the outside. Drivers come and help out. One of them counts the pepperonis on the pizza to make sure there is the right number — wow, that kind of detail is not called for in this hodge-podge, and what’s with the handling of the food. Despite my inability to match any pizza with any ticket, the drivers seem to find their pizzas and the cut table clears up. The pizza belt speed slows down, then speeds up. Still, no matching.