Pizza Hut is packed tonight. It’s like the utopia of pizza, and only two tables are open. The conversations are loud. It’s hard not to listen to them.

There’s a family of five behind me. Mom, dad, two young boys and a teenage girl are out for pizza. The rest of the family is anathema to the girl. She has a look of disgust on her face, like a large schism separates her from the rest. The fractious little boys are loud. They are fighting over the last breadstick. The parents don’t step in, though. They are too tired. It’s been a long day. Not one of them has a bit of flamboyancy.

An ostentatious woman walks in wearing a jaunty hat with flowers and ribbons on it. She also has on a gaudy ball gown. Too much dress for Pizza Hut. She is bellowing something about being a great singer, and disrupting the restaurant. But they won’t turn her away for that. She has too much money.

To my left there is a young couple in their twenties. The man looks timorous and nervous like he is about to pop the question. He expunges a bit of pizza sauce from his cheek with a napkin. They both look uncomfortable.

I have to truncate my dining experience. More people are coming in. I didn’t finish my pizza. Next time I’ll eat more and stare less.