Normally I didn’t let the weather give me a hard time. Sure, I’d complain and curse it under my breath, but I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I wanted. Why? I could have easily just gone inside, grabbed a coat, or headed for shelter many times. Maybe I thought it was proving something like strength of will. Somewhere deep inside my lizard brain, I needed to be strong. I powered through the pain and discomfort to come out stronger on the other side. In the end, it was just arrogance, and I was sick of pretending things mattered when the only place they lived was in my head.

  Gabe got to his feet, and we left that small park behind. My footsteps felt lighter on the way out. Good things were waiting for me. Once the car doors slammed shut and the heat turned on, I could feel the tension in my body begin to melt away. Gabe’s car was a welcome relief from harsh weather. I rubbed my arms to warm them up.

  “Do you want to call Ethan, or should I do it?” I asked.

  “I’ll put him on speaker,” Gabe said. “Don’t need to choose.”

  While the line was ringing, I realized I felt like I was intruding. I always left it to the boys to handle asking for anything. Even asking Ethan to come out felt insurmountable in a way I couldn’t explain. I knew he would be happy to tag along, and it didn’t matter at all. Nothing changed. Something in my head was screaming at me that this wasn’t the way things were supposed to go.

  “We’re getting pizza,” he said. “You want in?”

  “Same place?” Ethan asked.

  “You know it,” Gabe laughed.

  Normally, we didn’t invite him for things on the fly. He was a busy man with a busy schedule; we all were. Asking for a hangout on the way there was a recipe for disaster, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and we had a hunger only pizza could fill.

  “Time for round two,” I said. “This one’s on me.”

  “What’s the occasion?” Ethan asked.

  “I’m being nice,” I said. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  That was all it took. Sometimes luck really was on our side. Now with that out of the way, the three of us were heading back to Ria’s Pizzeria. Hard times called for good food and good company. Old-fashioned brick oven pizza in a nostalgia trap was just what the doctor ordered. Last time, the place was new to us. This time, it was sentimental. The simple rustic building with its clashing neon sign and almost authentic cuisine had our name written all over it.

  Soon enough, the three of us were back at the same booth, breathing in the warm aroma, and getting ready to talk about nonsense like we meant it. Last time, after a heated debate, we established that pizza was indeed a sandwich. The three of us were no strangers to banter, and none of us would easily back down. I’d have to be careful not to show my hand if I wanted to win.

  “I don’t know how you can top your last review,” I said. “Is it even possible?”

  “You got me there,” Gabe said. “It was pretty perfect.”

  “You’re thinking too small,” Ethan said. “The sky’s the limit.”

  Gabe rubbed his chin while he considered our propositions. The ball was in his court. Every word needed to be carefully played. Every point needed to be thoughtfully constructed. These were the days when everything counted for something. I didn’t know what, but they say everything happens for a reason. I believed it too. When a picture of a dancing hot dog could become an international sensation, anything was possible.

  “You know what people like,” I said. “There’s nothing they love more than drama.”

  “If this place went downhill, that could become a scandal,” Ethan said. “You could mourn the state of the once shining beacon of ‘Good Eats.’”

  “Oh, are we name-dropping now?” I asked. “Do you feel clever?”

  A wide smile spread across his face before he looked up from his clasped hands.

  “Yes, of course,” he said, pushing up his glasses.

  Damn, he was good. There was a fire of conviction burning in his eyes, and I couldn’t argue with that. In the meantime, Gabe finished his deliberation.

  “I bet pizza would survive the apocalypse,” he said.

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  “I doubt that, but roaches might,” I said.

  “Nothing is certain other than death and taxes,” Ethan said.

  Finally, our food arrived, and we agreed to call a cease-fire while we took our first bites. There was no greater good in the world than a good meal spent with your best friends. It would be a shame to spoil the centerpiece of our day. It was as decadent as I remembered it last time. The plain appearance hid a burst of flavor, and I found myself wondering why we didn’t do this more often.

  “Death, I can believe, but taxes?” I asked, raising my brows. “Who’s going to collect them after the apocalypse?”

  “Life finds a way,” Ethan said, thoughtfully.

  “Maybe the roaches could do it,” I said.

  “I saw a rat carry a slice of pizza down a flight of stairs once,” Gabe said.

  They were all good and valid points, of course, so we had to stop and think about it. Silence briefly ghosted over the table. Would pizza, roaches, or taxes survive the apocalypse? It was a question to end all questions. The possibilities were endless. Just one? None? What about all of the above?

  “Are you saying a rat dragging a slice of pizza around counts as collecting taxes?” I asked.

  “More importantly, is it even possible?” Ethan said.

  “What is?” I asked.

  “A governing body made of rats,” Ethan said, just as deadpan as always.

  I was starting to think we weren’t talking about pizza anymore. I’m sure this occurred to them too, but we wouldn’t let something like that stop us. The show must go on. Like Ethan said, the sky was the limit. We were thinking outside the box and going somewhere fast. Where? None of us knew, but that was half of the fun of getting there.

  “Hey, my eyes don’t lie,” Gabe said. “I saw grit in that fucker.”

  “It takes more than grit to hold a place together,” I said.

  “We’re going to need to dissect the logistics of rat communal social hierarchies to determine if they can collect taxes at all,” Ethan said, propping up his chin on his clasped hands.

  “That’s… that’s the part you’re worried about?” I asked. “We haven’t even determined if dragging around a slice of pizza counts as collecting taxes yet.”

  While we were busy bickering, Gabe had already started furiously scribbling on the back of a napkin. I had a bad feeling about this. For better or for worse, I knew him like the back of my hand. We were either about to see something incredible or something incredibly stupid, but depending on your perspective, you could say that there wasn’t much difference between those two.

  “Should we be scared?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he laughed.

  “A rat king,” Ethan said decisively. “One king to rule them all.”

  We were talking about post-apocalyptic rats collecting taxes, and Ethan was quoting J.R.R. Tolkien. Typical. In this bizarre world we were concocting, only one image popped up in my mind. I saw a tangle of rats knotted together by their tails scurrying down a sewer pipe. In the center, the greatest rat among them wore the most pristine golden crown.

  “Calm down,” I said. “You’re just adding more questions than answers. How would they wear their crown?”

  “I’d imagine one large crown for them all would be the most fitting,” Ethan said.

  “A crown that big would crush them,” I said. “And if they all had individual crowns, you’d have to call them the ‘Rat Kings’ instead. Clearly, one tiny crown on the lead rat is the only thing that makes sense.”

  We were getting nowhere fast and butting heads along the way. In order to keep this deliberation going, we needed a wild card. If a game couldn’t be won the old-fashioned way, you needed to switch it out with a little chaos. Almost on cue, Gabe slammed the napkin down with a flourish.

  “Don’t disappoint us now,” I said.

  While I was busy speculating, Ethan snatched the napkin off the table. I leaned over to have a look. It was a doodle of a rat carrying a slice of pizza down a flight of stairs. It only took a few lines to make that mischievous yet determined expression on its face. The bleeding ink added to its spontaneous appeal with eyebrows nearly a mile above its head. Off in the distance, a city burned. The flames were just a red smudge of marinara sauce.

  “Don’t be too impressed, but I’ve got more where that came from,” Gabe said, leaning back to prop up his arm over the back of the seat.

  “Didn’t know you were an artist,” I said, grinning.

  “What can I say? I’ve got all sorts of tricks up my sleeve,” he said.

  “They say a picture is worth a thousand words,” Ethan said, thoughtfully.

  “Wow, are you getting poetic on us now?” I asked.

  I could always count on the three of us to find meaning in nonsense. When the world was absurd, you learned to either lean into it or lose your mind. Every day, we was surrounded by pain and suffering. The way our days played out were up to happenstance. The weather didn’t bend to our will any more than anything else.

  “There’s only one thing this picture says,” Gabe said, triumphantly. “Always expect the unexpected.”

  “That’s not a thousand words,” I said.

  “Imagine it was,” he said, not missing a beat.

  It was times like this that I learned to let loose a little and not hold onto the world around me so tightly. Sometimes, it was about the journey more than the destination. At the end of the day, we hadn’t concluded a single thing other than that we had a great time getting there. Around us, the other patrons were clearing out, and the waiters were bussing the last of the tables.

  “Looks like that’s our cue to go,” I said, standing up.

  “Wait,” Gabe said. “Don’t forget your pizza.”

  I stopped mid-step.

  “Oh, that?” I asked, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I was just trying to help you pay your taxes. Wouldn’t want those rat kings going after you, I heard they go for the eyes.”

  We burst out laughing before heading out the door. Mission accomplished.

  ***

  Later that night, I got a ping. The latest review of Gabe’s Good Eats was up. There was only the drawing and one single line — ‘Good times, good food, and two thumbs up.’ I couldn’t have said it better myself.