Punk Rock Flea Market.
Where have you been? When I was in Birmingham, Alabama, two weeks ago, a very nice, respectable young lady invited me to a punk rock flea market at the Cahaba Brewery that night. I was all in, but, as usually happens, one thing led to another and I got distracted by two pretty faces, so—I forgot all about it. The lady who invited me reminded me the next day. I would have remembered.
Happiness loves company.
I am reminded of Birmingham because I am in a bar in New Orleans’ French Quarter which may as well be a punk rock flea market. In fact, the bartender used to own the junk shop next door, God love her.
There is a special place in Heaven for angels with dirty faces. We could use some more paid subscribers. Free subscribers should learn what they are missing out on. One month only costs $7.00. D//o not tell me you will be cheating orphans out of oatmeal for a one month subscription. I do not believe you are buying orphans oatmeal.