Mum and I had to get a saree dyed and the dyer dude just didn’t seem to be able to get to the right shade of blue we were looking for. So, while we finished off other errands and waited for him to get that perfect blue that we needed, we ate a pizza.
A very very Indian pizza. Cooked in an oven that runs on an electric cable pulled out of somebody’s residence. An oven set up on a cart. And pizza that tastes like crap, it’s so good. Like Bollywood songs from the nineties. I thrive on stuff like this.
That’s the SILLY CHILLY Pizza if you must know.
And oh, look at the fancy box with the call center number!
Oh, and the dyer dude. Who works out of an extremely shady little set up.