7pm The Line

“Condom hat dude is getting laid,” Lynn says, as we gently mock people standing in line across the street for some event sponsored by GQ and Bombay Sapphire.

I am sipping on a Beer Valley Oregonberry Wheat, which is about as meaningless a term as one could ask for. What does it taste like? A mellow version of Squirt, which I can’t really advise in it’s favor. Perhaps I should be across the street, going for gin.

Except then I’d have to put up with all those people who are trying to be part of a scene, a scene that clearly is not mine. It’s summer and there’s a man in a cotton hat that makes his head look like a condom reservoir waiting to get in. If there’s one clue to tell me where I do or don’t easily fit in, it’s the common sense applied to the dress of those attending.

On the other hand, Bailey’s is a little less crowded because of the event across the street, so I thank them.

I went for the wheat beer because I didn’t want to have a dark ale, which seem to be in strong supply right now, at least from breweries that I trust. Don’t know why: It’s still summer, right? Aging and slowly drifting towards fall but definitely summer.

I am going to return to the bar and find another beer. Something up there is going to satisfy me, even if I have to pay for it.

Note, I always pay for it.

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