Two Slices of Pizza
Mushroom and green pepper
Saw a sign that just said Jesus between Saraland and Satsuma. Cosmo’s Factory was playing, during the hypnotic middle drone of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.” Thought about turning around but wanted to see what was up ahead.
Broken Arrow Cafe, Uriah, Alabama, Polaroid SX-70 (all pictures April 12, 2024)
My street made it through the storm without losing power. The night of was harrowing; not one but two tornado sirens wailing as hail began to tap-tap-tap on the windows, on the roof, like a monster in a story, come to get you.
The next morning though, right after I had made coffee, I heard the wind pick up—not pick up, I heard the wind blow—you know how hard it was blowing if I heard it inside, wearing a robe and drinking from my Big Bad Breakfast mug. There was a kind of reverse howl and then an explosion, then another right after, and the time on the microwave winked off.
Bay Minette, Alabama, Polaroid SX-70
I was headed to the Gulf Coast that morning anyway, so I packed in the blue semi-dark of the early morning and headed down Highway 49. The next morning I lay scrolling through a map, seeing where I had never been. I like to just pick a place and head that way.
It was a lovely morning, sunny and cool, although I didn’t make a picture for the first hour and a half. I felt like I was keeping a sharp look-out, crucial to find secret roadside treasures but also it was a chaotic Spring morning. Outside of Mobile I was seeing what this old truck was hauling, which looked like a whole outdoor set in bright plastic—a patio table and chairs plus a big chunky yellow slide for little kids. As I was looking at it the slide began to tumble out, taking with it one of the white chairs, which bounced and skittered across the double lanes.
A red truck with a giant gray elephant magnet on the tailgate neatly swerved to miss it, digging a small rut in the bright green grass on the right shoulder. I followed suit.
Atmore, Alabama, Polaroid SX-70
I spent a little bit of time trying to figure out where the northwest corner of Florida poked itself up into Alabama, like a kid jabbing a finger at their sister, but started to get hungry and the coffee from Gautier had worn off. There looked like a pizza place in Atmore that would be good and while I was circling the downtown I spotted a nifty turquoise Ford in a bank parking lot. I spent some time trying to find an angle on it while the sun was shining. A fellow walked by singing to himself, I couldn’t hear what, but he got louder and louder, weaving down the sidewalk. The Ford had a dash of color in the chrome trim, a bright purple stripe.
At the pizza place I was waiting on a basket of fried pickles when the singing-yelling person wandered in. He sat at the counter by me and began to insist they give him a whole pizza. The server gently negotiated with him, telling him that was too expensive, and offered him a slice instead. He accepted. She knew his order and asked if he wanted pepperoni on it and a Dr. Pepper. She called him by a nickname. He nodded vigorously.
I was reading about the Tide and who was going to start for A-Day when he began singing again, lightly at first, then more loudly. The server got onto him a little bit, but not in a mean way, and he quieted down. The fried pickles were very good and the pizza was excellent, with a crispy crust and lots of cheese. You could actually taste the mushrooms.
“TWO SLICES OF PIZZA” is a chapter of GORJUS, a dispatch devoted to art and life in the South, held fast with instant film. If you liked what you saw and read, if you maybe felt a twang in your belly while you looked it over, then this is for you, and I reckon we would be friends. Consider sending this letter to a pal who is like us. I’m gorjusjxn on Instagram, and you can see an archive of Polaroids at McCartyPolaroids.