The sun glistened off a couple buggies parked right outside the windows. The empty pan bore some pizza crust left over from what had been a terrific late afternoon lunch. It was a Saturday, and my three Amish friends and I sat in one of the fabric-torn booths in the pizza shop. Right behind my friends’ buggies, out the old windows could be seen the roadway which passes closely by. Lots of traffic usually. Cars whiz by, certainly going faster than they should be. Oh, and the Amish. Howbeit, I wouldn't say they rip and roar. I would have to say that motorized vehicles are outnumbered by their unmotorized counterparts two to one. And sitting here in the pizza shop, I was the only English guy currently in the place. But there I sat, with my three Amish friends, oh, and the Amish girl Serra up front, the customer attendant, though no one else was here. Albeit, I don’t know who was in the back making the pizzas.