“Soft, faded berets against the slate clouds, Mark III Stens set on automatic, mustaches mouthwide covering enormous upper lips, humorless—no chance for any American lieutenant to get a look, not today.”
Photo taken at The Reliance
“time for a comradely pint”
Photo taken at The Official Bob Reuter Memorial held at Casa Loma Ballroom
“Things have fallen roughly into layers, over a base of bureaucratic smegma that sifts steadily to the bottom, made up of millions of tiny red and brown curls of rubber eraser, pencil shavings, dried tea or coffee stains, traces of sugar and Household Milk, much cigarette ash, very fine black debris picked and flung from typewriter ribbons, decomposing library paste, broken aspirins ground to powder.”
Photo taken at Bridge Tap House & Wine Bar
“It is the dark, hard, tobacco-starved, headachy, sour-stomach middle of the day, a million bureaucrats are diligently plotting death and some of them even know it, many about now are already into the second or third pint or highball glass, which produces a certain desperate aura here.”
Photo taken at The Shanti
“their lips were palimpsests of secret flesh, scarred and unnaturally white, by which they all knew each other”
Photo taken at Mangia
“quite nubile young women naughtily attired in Busbies and jackboots”
Photo taken at Mac’s Club Deuce
“It was a giant Adenoid.”
Photo taken at Venice Cafe
“They bent over, unaware, the saucy darlings, of the fatal strips of white cotton knickers thus displayed, the undercurves of baby-fat little buttocks a blow to the Genital Brain, however pixilated.”
Photo taken at Sasha’s on Shaw
“Just hum the nitwit little tune they taught you, and try not to fuck up.”
Photo taken at Broad Ripple Brewpub
“Solitude, even among the meshes of this war, can when it wishes so take him by the blind gut and touch, as now, possessively.”
Photo taken at The Severin Bar
“Now there grows among all the rooms, replacing the night’s old smoke, alcohol, and sweat, the fragile, musaceous odor of Breakfast: flowery, permeating, surprising, more than the color of winter sunlight, taking over not so much through any brute pungency or volume as by the high intricacy of the weaving of its molecules, sharing the conjuror’s secret by which—though it is not often Death is told so clearly to fuck off—the living genetic chains prove even labyrinthine enough to preserve some human face down ten or twenty generations … so the same assertion-through-structure allows this war morning’s banana fragrance to meander, repossess, prevail.”
Photo taken at The Civil Life Brewing Company
“In the kitchen, black-market marshmallows slide languid into syrup atop Pirate’s double boiler, and soon begin thickly to bubble.”
Photo taken at Colorado Bob’s Ship of Fools
“They’re calling it premature Brennschluss.”
Photo taken at The Fortune Teller Bar
“Pick bananas.”
Photo taken at Three Kings Public House
“gnarled emissions of steam and smoke….”
Photo taken at The Woody Creek Tavern
“His skull feels made of metal.”
Photo taken at Brewhaus