When next you are in Minneapolis, on the other side of the first bridge built over the Mississippi, do yourself a favor and stop in for a cocktail. Don’t forget to tip the man who has been playing piano for longer than you’ve been alive. He will play a Getz-Gilberto number that appeals to the 103 degree temperatures you’ve endured all day, and though the twist in your gin will have far too much pith on it, what does it matter? The place has no windows, is as dark as a tomb, and smells like home.
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- tenderloingeographicsociety posted this
