Dean suggested a pizza to give him time to get it out, and the two walked a few blocks to a favorite neighborhood spot—redcheckered tablecloth and scenes of Old Sorrento on the walls.
Besides, if an eighteen-wheeler was going to make "possum pizza" out of him, he wanted to hear it coming.
Later, after everyone had gone, Dean sent out for pizza and both men knocked off a large pie with the works and enough scotch to get silly.
You go out with the local World Wide guy and have pizza and beer—lots of beer, considering what he spent.
Most of Bird Song's other guests remained, as requested, in their own rooms but Ryland hung around the kitchen, sharing a snack of take-out pizza with Donnie while Edith sat nearby, wringing her hands and looking petrified.
I just put a pizza in the oven.
Dean could be back on Collingswood Avenue, listening to John Coltrane or Charlie Parker and patting Mrs. Lincoln, or catching a Phillies game on the tube, or eating pizza and slugging down a cold Coors beer.
Why don't we go out for pizza tonight?