Blowout

The aesthetics of the surrounding area approach the Nordic. I walk away from the spot down Market into and around chaos. The heart has four chambers and surely it’s something that it’s not three or seven. But the aesthetics are Nordic–matte pastels, harsh angles, cozy seats. Each table like a salted fish: good and healthy but wouldn’t you much rather have potato chips?

The beer is cold and the hops are bitter but not so bitter don’t worry you’ll like it. Oh, the [appetizer] is very good. Don’t worry, that’s not my favorite thing–why would I lie to you? This job is about trust and dreams and Nords.

If the food was better, O’Hara would’ve written about it and then the spaces between us would fill with lyrics (won’t you have a beer with me?/No, surely I’m not interested, what gave you that impression?)

The beer was too bitter, we’re gonna head somewhere else–13 hours a day passes quickly when it’s always blue outside the windows. My four chambers shrink to three because of my nose and the guy who does salads. That’s a more special number anyway.

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