A Note On Tonight's Pizza
This is nothing short of a disaster.
I nearly told the tardy Dominos guy that if he wanted a tip, he’d hop right back into his time-travelling Ford Focus and re-deliver the thing at least twenty-five minutes earlier. But I was afraid that doing so might rip the delicate fabric of the space/time/pizza continuum, killing us all just one night after we survived both a lunar eclipse and the downing of a renegade satellite, so I decided to bite my tongue and accept the delivery without complaint.
You’re welcome.