I’ve stopped for a Chasin’ Freshies by Deschutes before dance class. It is a terrible name for a beer because I sound hammered trying to say it and I’ve nary a drop.
It’s a good beer though, emphasizing the lemony bitterness of the hops strongly on the back end, but not ferociously.
Meanwhile, I kill time before class at the Slow Bar. It’s more crowded than I expected, given how early it is. But I suppose Portland is a drinking city and if you have the time, then it’s time for a pint and the crowd here, which seems to cross age and income brackets, supports this notion.
I try not to think about dance class. It makes me nervous. Practicing a skill is good but when I practice brewing, the only one who has to suffer with the consequences is me. Dancing is a kind of public practice that opens you up to mockery, although that mockery is entirely internal.
Still, I’m here during happy hour and I get to have a fortification beer. Hard to complain, ennit?