I know, I know. The crosswalk is a whole block down the street. It's just too far for you to stumble in a brown-bag and crack rock daze. I get it. The DT's have a way of turning your legs to smackberry jelly. Hiyo, silver ... spoon and needle, away. But, as much as I like pizza, I don't want to be the guy making it. I want it delivered to my front door, not delivered to my front bumper. For Bob Dobb's sake, man, cross at the crosswalk ... and in the light too. Street pizza is not tasty.