Post-Game Report
I emerged from the sports bar Saturday afternoon to brilliant sunshine, and the dark-spot-xray feeling of guilt and dread borne by all men who slink out of a bar in broad daylight. Except I was feeling guilty for expending one of the last precious summer days inside, instead of outside frenetically recreating. Here’s what I saw as I exited:
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Ace up my sleeve: I had bussed to the sports bar with the idea that my route home might include a walk up Queen Anne Hill and down to Fremont, where they were hosting the Oktoberfest.
I called Mrs. Perils and offered to meet her there, and started walking. I passed through the Seattle Center, the site of the 1962 World’s Fair:
As I waited for her in Fremont, I took in the sights:
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These confections, called Shishkaberries, put me in mind of Middle Earth sex toys:
As I passed this booth, I heard the woman saying, “And if you miss any more payments, we’ll extract this one, and this one, and so on. You should get your credit situation straightened out pronto, or you’ll never straighten your spine again.”
Once Mrs. Perils arrived, we decided that we really didn’t want to spend $20 apiece to sample beers - we’re just not really big beer drinkers, and the band that started playing didn’t really grab us. Instead, we left the Oktoberfest and ambled up to an old favorite, El Camino, and enjoyed excellent margaritas and happy-hour appetizers for about the same cost.
And walked home just as the sun was setting.
