i must admit, it looks funky this restaurant, bright, cheerful, almost like they’ve swallowed too much lemon, i mean it’s really fucking YELLOW inside! but does scoozi have what it takes to make the best pizza in town? or even a good one? maybe they do, but definitely not this time.

so, i’m with my brother ibrahimdi and hasanfulhu this nice evening. both have bad social anxiety and the place is PACKED and LOUD. we’ve taken a seat outside to avoid the crowd and have got comfy in the semi-darkness but despite this, my companions are smoking non-stop. like they’re in a competition.

‘slow down, guys,’ i say. ‘you’re like you’re in a race to the grave.’

‘it’s like he’s never smoked,’ coughs hasanfulhu to ibrahimdi, who grins. he’s a quiet man, my brother.

‘so, what did you order for us?’ hasanfulhu asks.

i ordered downstairs – these two let me do as i please on such matters because, well, it’s clear whose palate is more refined.

‘a margharita,’ i tell them. ‘and i thought i’d add some meat to it, they didn’t have bresaola so i went with italian sausage.’

‘what makes a sausage italian?’ asks ibrahimdi.

‘more importantly, would you know if it’s not?’ asks hasanfulhu, looking at me funny.

he’s a lawyer, did i tell you?

and the pizza arrives, a thick crust fella just as ibrahimdi wanted. the dough looks beautiful, charred, crisp to the touch. i take a bite.

‘dear god!’ i say.

‘what?’

‘it’s sauce out of a can. and this isn’t italian sausage.’

‘are we supposed to believe you?’ asks hasanfulhu.

‘come on man,’ i am fuming. ‘it’s cheapass sausage from the grocery store.’

‘yeah,’ says ibrahimdi, thoughtfully. ‘you get better sausages from that hut across from the ferry terminal.’

‘haha,’ laughs hasanfulhu patting my brother’s shoulder. ‘looks like we have another little critic here. two in the fam.’

‘well,’ i tell him. ‘what do YOU think?’

‘eh,’ says hasanfulhu. ‘you know me, i don’t even know what I like.’

so we pay the bill, which is just over 200 for a large pizza and water. there’s potential here, definitely. but right now, it’s unrealised.

‘like your dreams of being a real writer, eh?’ says hasanfulhu. fuck, was i thinking out loud?