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Vancouver is a pizza city. Pizza-by-the-slice joints speckle the streets like neon-glowing beacons in the chronic rain. They exude the friendly smells of fresh bread and cheap elastic cheese.  

Dirty slice pizza. Shops the size of closets. It runs you a buck-fifty to walk out clutching a floppy(more)
Back when I lived in Queens, there was this little pizza shop across the street from my elementary school. I'd go to it nearly afternoon; a plain slice of cheese was only one dollar. I'd pay the guy behind the counter and then stand by the broken pac man(more)
But by then they had all but forgotten, so they moved out again into the fields where they set back to work in the soil that turns year by year into life.  

The wind through the whispering chattering trees and the unsurprising sky were there with them. (more)
Our waitress announced that she would be "taking care of "us last Tuesday. She offered to slice and serve our pepperoni pizza   She did so with a smile and a flair.  Unfortunatley, the slice slid right off of her spatula on to my white cargo pants, sauce side down.  The manager(more)
I grew up in Minneapolis, and Cossetta's (in St. Paul) was the best pizza ever. There was also a deep-dish Chicago style place we'd go to when we visited friends and family in Chicago that was amazing. Cossetta's is still there, about ten times as big as it was(more)