Deuce Deuce

Before taking in much-anticipated Watchmen, the goats made their way down to Philadelphia for some Beer Week related revelry. Notably a bunch of drinks from some Colorado brewer at For Pete's Sake Pub, a small neighborhood bar that for some reason was determined by a local weekly to be one of the top ten bars in Philly. It's no Oscars, but still, $7 Chimay.

No other major details, because it didn't occur to me to scrawl in my notebook until I realized I was too drunk to read David Foster Wallace on the bus ride back home. Consulting it now there really isn't much legible, let alone coherent. Random sketches of billboards and retail signs. Something about an old man with a huge white beard, although he may have been younger, because the beard obscured his age. He had difficulty walking, which indicates advanced age or hard-living, or both. The bus driver was able to somehow lower the bus to allow his exit, while someone said "Jesus Loves You." Probably a black woman.

Also I wrote this: "Kitten thinks of nothing but murder all day, good thing kitten is not allowed on the bus." Presumably that has something to do with this, along with public transit's staunch anti-pet policy. Or maybe I was thinking of murder because of some token idiot who happened to be within ire range. Or the faint smell of urine that accompanies any trip on the 104. I don't know. Maybe things will be clearer if I make a second trip to beer week, to bicycle.