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Word Count: 100
Monticello, a town in Upstate New York, is where we spent the summer of 1965, the last summer of my childhood, with my aunt and uncle. Having never traveled far from Kansas City, this was the adventure of my eleven-going-on-twelve-year-old lifetime.
Unlike KC, restaurants like the pizzeria where I had my first ever, true pizza, stayed open all night.
My brother handed me the red pepper. “Try this.”
Aunt Lu scowled. “Go easy, Rochelle.”
Did I listen?
Although the gooey cheese and sauce melted in my mouth, the pepper burned all the way down—and all the way back up.