So it goes. Two men walked into a pub in Algiers Point. This was on Earth, you understand. Earth: a planet so insignificant in the grand cosmic scheme that most advanced civilizations use it as a punchline.
The first man, let's call him Jason, because why not, sat down at the bar. He ordered a seltzer that tasted like it had been filtered through a dead man's sock. Jason liked it that way.
The second man, we'll name him Chris, stumbled in shortly after. He took the stool next to Jason, not because he wanted company, but because it was the only seat left. Funny how fate works, isn't it?
"Hell of a night," Chris said to no one in particular.
"You don't know the half of it," Jason replied, also to no one in particular.
They sat in silence, two strangers united by their shared indifference to each other's existence. The bartender, a guy whose suspenders were performing an act of god keeping his pants up, refilled their glasses without asking. In New Orleans, alcohol flows like water. In fact, it's often safer and cheaper to drink than the water.
"You know what this town needs?" Chris suddenly asked, breaking the silence like a hammer through a stained-glass window.
Jason, surprised to find himself in a conversation, replied, "A time machine?"
Chris laughed. It was a laugh that suggested he had either found a kindred spirit or was having a stroke. "Close. It needs more Detroit style pizza."
And just like that, L7 NOLA was born. Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with a shrug and a "why the hell not?"
We spent the rest of the night planning our pizza empire. By morning, we had a name. By noon, we had a menu. By evening, we had sobered up enough to realize what we had done.
But we went through with it anyway. Because that's what humans do. They make grand plans in bars, and sometimes, just sometimes, they follow through.
We suspect our pizza will be a hit with you and your friends. Not because our food is unquestionabily the best in the world (it is great however), or because the service is stellar (everyone has their days), but because in a world of chaos and uncertainty, people find a modicum of comfort in the absurdity of two strangers slinging pies from a Gozney Dome.
And so it goes. Two men walked into a bar and walked out with a business plan. Stranger things have happened. Stranger things will happen. But for now, there's pizza.