Last night I rode our newly-acquired (found rusting and unclaimed in the basement of this apartment) tapioca-yellow bicycle down to the celebrated Foxhead tavern and drank with the fiction writers. These people literally take over the bar every Tuesday night. They even chased off the two drunkards who were holding court at the bar for what appeared to have been a very long time. I met a lot a people, laughed at some of the funniest stories I've heard in a while, and played a few songs on the jukebox before I wobbled back through the night to my sleeping wife and babe. I had wild, PBR-soaked dreams last night. I don't get those very often anymore, so when I do they're real roller coasters. It's important to note that suspended above the bar, there is an actual fox's head, stuffed and mounted inside a glass cube.
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