Oh, how I wish you were beer.

Lots of energy out there on the street tonight. Lots of cops, little roadblocks, the ghetto bird soaring high above. Been that way here ever since I can remember, I think most nights of my childhood in this town consisted of me drifting off to sleep to either the sound of train whistles or police choppers. I ventured out to The Buffet tonight, which if you don't know, is the oldest bar in Tucson (in business since the early 1920s) and a damn fine place to get a beer. Draft pitchers for $5.00, fantastic hot dogs for a dollar, walls that surrendered to patrons' graffiti decades ago, aggressively Amazonian bartenders...it sorta has all the good things that make life worth living. To fuel the running commentary there was a man in vintage 70s wear who was groomed like Daniel Plainsview from There Will Be Blood, an assortment of plus-size lesbians, and little aggressive guys with spiky hairdos and shitty, overpriced T-shirts with angel wings and stupid macho sayings in Olde English. Luckily, I had some good friends in tow and enough beer money to stay spiritually moist.

It's the way to be.