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The smells of oregano and thyme.
It’s the perfume of tradition-
brick, fire, tomato, time.
Flour drifts through the air like snow in the city.
The stories and heritage rise with the yeast.
Each slice creased, confident, complete-
A folded piece fit for the street.
In every slice, there is a memory,
a city’s pulse pressed into dough.
Pizza is meant to be folded,
meant to be shared,
meant to be eaten standing up or leaning in close-
simple, satisfying, complete.
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