Today, for arguably the first time in my Duke career, I decided I would stroll into the highly regarded “The Loop,” located in the slippery part of the Bryan Center. Overall, their menu offers much to like, though, truth be told, I found it too wide to process all at once. I ordered the exotic personal cheese pizza and sat down at the nearest open table overlooking the sports bar. While the innocent pizza resting comfortably on my plate was quite appealing, it was a middle-aged man in a blue and yellow vest sitting in the booth across from me that ultimately captured my attention. He seemed at once so distant, yet of a demeanor and expression all too familiar. His attractive red eyes concentrated intently on his beet salad as several drops of cranberry juice bubbled from his whitish lips in a mad rush to reach his chin. His elliptical eyes gleamed at me, causing me to quickly withdraw my fingertips from the small plastic jar of to-go mayonnaise that, per my usual habit, I had set out in front of me. The shock of emotion I experienced as we locked glances could best be compared to those sensations I felt when I first set eyes on my high school crush, the very one who caused me so much heartache when she tore my official Duke acceptance letter right before my tearing eyes as she rejected my extensively planned out promposal (“Duke you want to go to prom with me?”). He stood up, nonchalantly straightened his sensible vest, and walked toward me; the accumulated sweat now seeping through my waistband and marking my seat. As he neared, instinct took over. I closed my eyes and subtly leaned in, my desert-dry lips and personal coal-fired cheese pizza twitching in unison. When I opened my eyes, to my dismay he was nowhere to be found, escaping me like the many frightened guinea pigs I owned in my youth. The pizza was a little too moist for my taste.
Reese is our team’s number one food reviewer who started writing for Department Of in 2017. About 5 foot 3, Reese can often be found with his grey, noise cancelling BOSE™ headphones, playing imaginary drums with real, limited edition, Metallica drum sticks on the C3 Class Exchange. He almost got into his fraternity of choice.