I loved a girl once who lived in Hamtramck. She raved about how cool the town was and that being part of Detroit it was a hip-happening place. I'm sure that it was/is. Her college friends would party and watch bands there. I hate bars but went along a few times because her friends were just so wonderful and we should hang out with them more often. Sure we should. So into the bar we went and met up with her friends. Another friend or two were the featured band of the night. Sweety cheeks offered to get drinks while I and her friends sat at a shaky table and re-acquainted ourselves with each other. "We hear so much about you and it's great to see you." I just half-smiled because I was warned to be on my best behavior. Not too long into the get together I felt a rubbing against my leg. You know how sometimes you accidentally rub the support stanchions when sitting at an unfamiliar table and think some mysterious dwarf woman is rubbing your leg? I looked under the table and followed the foot to somebody who was not my girl. The mysterious rubbing was from the great great friend of sweety cheeks. I looked at her with less than amusement in my eyes and she eventually got the hint that I found her flirtations rather repugnant. Don't get me wrong, I regret my life entirely -- except for my child -- and in another lifetime I probably would have enjoyed the moment and not been such a surly prick but being that I am what I am, I was not amused. But that's a whole other bone to pick at completely.
I never told the girlfriend because I didn't want to mar her delusions of her great peeps. Maybe I can track her down now and perhaps ruin a wonderful friendship with a secret betrayal. Nah, I think I'll just drink this goddamn beer instead and thank my dim-bulb brain for not marrying the woman as she had told a friend that I must do or it was over. Haha. Yeah, that's a successful maneuver to use on a stubborn pollack.
Oh yeah, the beer. Well, it's not over-macro-nized as some BA limp-dicks have proposed that it is. Sure it has an adjunct feel but there is also some sweetkins parsed against a carmel spine which, if I think about it now, tastes an awful lot like an amped down version of Big League Brew which these guys also produced for Helmar. I'll be damned if my seldom flashbacks aren't wholly relevant at times. A counterfeit kolsch which could be a session beer for the many. I can't promise no adjunct headache the next morning though.