Stepping onto the creaky, wooden deck, the aroma of freshly-charred pie filled the sticky summer air. I had stumbled upon Litchfield's well-loved Bohemian Pizza, and it just happened to be lunchtime. I was there to stay.
80's record sleeves lined the walls, peanut shells crunched beneath my feet, and strings of old-fashioned lights gave the space a soft, cozy glow. My eyes met a soul-filling sign: "Loved you yesterday. Love you still. Always Have. Always will." There was a country-playing jukebox, a bar full of locals and genuine smiles from the staff. This is the kind of spot you don't forget... and you wouldn't want to.
I cozied up at the only free spot at the bar, and was greeted by an older, blue-eyed gentleman. "Want some pizza?" he asked. "I've got plenty, it'll go to waste." As I was politely declining, he slid his box full of pie on over to me. My eyes lit up. To my utter delight, it was the GreenBox...and I couldn't contain my excitement.
Next thing I knew, a small crowd formed as I was breaking down our beloved GreenBox. Ooh's and aah's were plenty, and I could feel myself beaming with pride. The owner eventually joined us, exclaiming how the GreenBox has been the "perfect fit" for Bohemian Pizza. He gave me a hug, and thanked me. I couldn't help but think...this is what it's all about.
I eventually helped myself to a few slices of the man's "HamBurglar" pie, hopped in my car and drove off through the rolling hills of my hometown. GreenBox in hand, always.