The Pizza Shop

I went into a pizza shop and the man behind the counter said, "what kind of pizza do you want?" and I said, "what do you have?"
He said, "menu's on the wall," and I said, "oh."
The menu had pizza names, no descriptions, and the names were a bit strange. Rainforest pizza. Rock-pool pizza. So I picked one I liked the sound of, just to break the tension. "I'll have a medium meadow pizza, please."
"£6.50, please."

I sat on the steps outside whilst I waited. Fifteen minutes later he said, "medium meadow pizza", and I took the warm box from the counter, thanked him, and left. I walked across the street and headed to the park.

When I got there I sat down cross legged on the warm grass, placed the box in front of me and opened it.
The smell wafted up into my face. The smell of hay. The pizza was on a bed of hay. It was topped with a variety of fungi, and strewn with poppy petals and clover and dandelion leaves. I was taken aback, but curious. I took a bite. It tasted of a summer's day. I devoured it all, savouring its strange, fragrant deliciousness. Glad that I hadn't chosen the rock-pool pizza.