This post does not have pictures. You will soon realize why.
This evening, the Calitexican and I headed out for what should be the traditional Friday night tacos and beer (my fish tacos were wonderful). Having just purchased some new books while waiting for her arrival (Son Of A Witch, Everything Is Illuminated & the Collected Works Of Willa Cather) I was anticipating a great evening.
After wonderful conversation (Cali's good friend S., who was with us, has just as much fascination as I do with the subject of work related disease) and great food and a few Negra Modelos we were ready to hit my favorite night spot for some jazz and whiskey (The Rite Spot). There was an open staple to lock up to and the sound coming out of the club promised good music and a mellow crowd. I was anticipating a Laphroig (neat, water back) to enjoy with the stand up bass playing... when my hand and lock both met with a nice, wet, pile of recently rained on dog shit. There is nothing quite like walking into a jazz club, covered in crap, certainly not something I have ever experienced before. I will say though, it did get me priority into the single stall bathroom, despite the line.
People. Please. Don't tie your dogs up to the bike parking. It is really just not a good thing.