Soon it will be my fifty-fourth birthday. Most of you kids can’t conceptually grasp reaching that landmark. I once vowed never to pass thirty, but life makes liars out of many of us. Every moment that remains after the stroke is gravy.

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Cosmic Stan’s

“Pizza anyone?” The crowd answered with an enthusiastic roar, and I ducked a tankard as it flew past my ear.

My name is Collen, and I schlep pies for Cosmic Stan’s Any Time Any Place Pizza and Catering. (Here, have a menu.)

We mean what it says. With Cosmic Stan’s, you’re guaranteed fresh, hot pizzas delivered anywhere in space-time, for any size party. Causation and Entropy are optional; if we don’t deliver half an hour before you place the order, your pizza is free.

This party is a big one. Open field, hundreds of big dudes (hairy biker types) already partying, busty waitresses deftly dodging ass-pinches and delivering frothy mugs for the boys.

The invoice calls for six thousand pies. (I’ll be duplicated pretty heavily to cover that many.)

Some event called “Ragnarok.” There are special order notes: “Ask for Wotan,” “Beware of Dog,” and “Leave early.”

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Inspired by this week’s Monday Finish the Story prompt:

—© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham