Free Styrofoam Throne by David Bone

man, feeding the Castle Pizza carousel with pepperoni slices.
    “Tony, this is . . .”
    “We know each other from food runs,” I said as Tony nodded.
    “Great. So he’s gonna work with you from now on.”
    Now on?
    “I could use it,” Tony said.
    “He’d be perfect for the pizza guitar,” Jack said.
    “Yeah.” Tony nodded.
    Pizza guitar? My dream took a nosedive.  
    “Let’s move some ’za, boys!” Jack slapped me on the back and left.
    Fuck. I wanted a job on the front of the Castle Dunes brochure, not on the back of it.
    “No more running back and forth, huh? Welcome aboard,” Tony said.
    I watched Jack disappear down the pier as I stood frozen, paralyzed from shock.
    “Here ya go,” Tony said, handing me a heavy metal–styled cardboard guitar with promotional pizza graphics on it that read “Hot ’n Ready!”
    I grabbed the cardboard guitar and looked at it as I took my first breath in a while. Was Renaldo right?
    “What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked.  
    “Your job is to play this thing in front of here, and try to wrangle people over to buy a slice.”
    I thought I said something to acknowledge the instructions but nothing came out.
    “What’s that?” Tony asked.
    “Okay, yeah. Yes.”
    “Think you can handle it?” Tony raised an eyebrow.
    “Totally.”
    “At lunch I’ll give you a coke and two slices if you’re doing good.”
    “Cool.”
    “Alright then, get at it,” Tony said.
    There wasn’t anyone even on the pier yet. Just me, the pizza guitar, and the rising temperature. I wanted to terrify people in the darkness, not get laughed at in the sun.
    I began trying out a variety of grips on the guitar, looking for one that felt right. There were none. I stood there with my knees locked, mock strumming as I stared at my shoes. A couple walked by, not paying attention to me. I was horrified anyways and turned my back to them and stared at Tony.
    “Kid, don’t sell me the fucking pizza. Sell them!”
    “Okay.”
    “And you also need to be yelling ‘Hot ’n Ready!’ in a heavy metal voice,” Tony said.
    “Are you fucking with me?”
    “Ya know, if you’re too shy for this, we can get someone else.”
    “No, no. I got it.”
    I walked out to the middle of the pier, strumming the guitar high up on my chest, and worked up the courage to say, “Hot ’n Ready,” at a decent volume.
    No one paid attention to me. Thankfully, my pizza song fell on deaf ears.
    I turned my performance toward the Castle. So close, yet so . . . disappointing. But I guess as long as I was within a stone’s throw, it beat anything else. As I gazed at the Castle, I got caught up in my thoughts and stopped pizza rocking.
    “Kid! Hot ’n Ready! Hot ’n Ready! Hot ’n fucking Ready!”
    “Yeah, sorry.”
    “I’ve got enough shit to worry about, alright?”
    The pier had started to fill up and I let one rip, “Hoooot ‘nnnnnn Reaaaa-daaaay!” My voice cracked halfway through “ready” and made everyone within fifty feet laugh out loud. Families with their kids, bored teenagers, couples looking for something to do. Now my awkwardness was the attraction.
    My cheeks filled with icy blood. I looked to Tony for help.
    “Don’t look to me for a sign, kid. You’re holding it.”
    I resumed wandering a small perimeter around Castle Pizza, trying my best to yell “Hot ’n Ready!” every thirty seconds with just a passable amount of panache. All while constantly strumming guitar like a man with two broken hands.
    “D!”
    It was Renaldo.  
    “Ha ha, shredding some cheese! You’re the new Hot ’n Ready guy, huh? That’s cool . . . I guess.”
    “Kinda,” I said, trying to maintain my silent song.
    Renaldo took a step back.
    “Dude, don’t you watch music videos? That’s not how you play that shit!” he said.
    Tony yelled from behind the counter, “Renaldo, show ‘em how it’s done and I’ll give you a slice.”
    “I’ll show him but your pizza sucks, dude. Give me free