Write four lines of prose about: the pizza shop.
Woke up this morning to rain, which thankfully stopped fairly quickly. But my first thought was along the lines of 'Great, it's going to be a wet and muddy pick'. My second thought?
Oh crap, my iPhone is going to get ruined.
Normally I just shove my cell in my pocket while I'm working in the garden, so by the end of my three years with the previous phone it was pretty crusty with dirt. I was feeling less than excited about doing that to my new gadget.
I managed to get through the harvest (and it was a good one!) without damaging it, but I can see that I'm going to need to take a few more precautions with this one than I have with previous models.
The cook stood in the alley behind the shop, an unlit cigarette dangling precariously from thick lips. He clutched a lighter in his fist as he contemplated the collection of discarded items littering the ground around him.
He didn't really want to have a smoke, he'd been trying to quit for so long.
But, he thought to himself as the flame flickered into existence, it was the easiest way to get the overpowering smell of pizza out of his clothes.