It had been a good pizza too. Deep dish with steak, mushrooms, green peppers, and extra cheese. He had only eaten one piece when his door had been smashed in and the had fight ensued. During it's course, he wasn't exactly sure how or when, a fire had started. They had continued to fight until he had killed his attacker; but by then it was too late to save his apartment. Realizing this, he fled from it, pizza forgotten, and melted into the on-looking crowd and stood, watching it burn. There had been nothing special in the apartment, not pictures, keepsakes, or valuables. There had only been that poor, poor pizza.
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