Three colors, a trope, and the troof.
Who’re we to get in the way of Fried Eggs having fun?
Last seen they were doing it in the Mission.
Tinkle me a tickler, jiggle me a Joplin, a real spats and sugar-in-my-bourbon number.
Tha’s all the validation I need.
Spacious infinite bedroom in prime location.
Among the tiny wizard’s powers, exemplary pool-playing could not be counted.
New Ikea in Lower Haight; no backlash as of yesterday.
“Just two exclamations?” a Society intern intones.
The Ethiopians are tired of it. The snickering. The photos. But it’s a genuinely good beer, subtext notwithstanding.
There.
Fine, let’s just stay here. New York, you can wait your turn.
Things fall apart.
This is the year you dress as Bunnicula for Halloween.
I don’t know about you, but this new League of Urban Gardeners/Neighborhood Watch composite is giving me the creeps.