The New Yorker, by the Slice

Any toppings?

"Making himself heard over the rhythmical racket of the radio, the boy ordered a slice of pizza and an orange soda from the equally youthful-looking counterman. When the food and drink came, the boy flicked off the radio with a practiced thumb, freed the leather strap from his wrist with a circular arm motion, and laid the silent apparatus down in front of him, making sure that the strap was coiled neatly on top of the case, so that no part of it touched the greasy counter." —The city has a long history of flour-covered pizza men, of course, but The New Yorker really only started paying attention in the sixties, when the really rebellious teens all ate slices. [Culture Desk/New Yorker, Earlier]