After dropping some books at the Epiphany Library on 23rd Street last night, I ate a slice of pizza. I think that was Frank who took my order. He wasn't as friendly as the review below claims he is, and looked tired. Maybe he didn't want me to be there. I don't know. However, there was a woman who looked friendly. I think that was his wife. She gave me my slice of sausage pizza, fresh from the oven. For a Saturday night, the place was quiet. I assume this is the reason why Frank looked gloomy. But that is Frank in 2011, twenty years after the review below that declared Frank's Pizza was the Best of Manhattan in 1991. Yes, twenty years. It's only natural to look exhausted. But I hate to think his long face last night was indicative of how his business is doing.
There was a young couple there on the other side of the room, and me on the other side. I actually liked the pizza, and wouldn't hesitate to buy another one with a diet coke, next time I'm in the area.
There was a young couple there on the other side of the room, and me on the other side. I actually liked the pizza, and wouldn't hesitate to buy another one with a diet coke, next time I'm in the area.
