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fresh off a trip from the old empire, it was time to reintroduce myself to seattle and single-dom, a double ‘s’ threat as frightening as the schutzstaffel.  equipped with the latest in euro-hosiery, i crashed some friends’ oyster eats and soon ended up in one of said friend’s newly relocated neighbourhood of greenwood.  a microcosm much like west seattle or georgetown where us ausländers (read: eastsiders) dont hear much about, greenwood offers up its own local hangouts like the yard cafe – part mexican, part dive, very much frat-boy meets brunch bar. i can’t remember what caused me to ask, but upon inquiring about the origin of their bitters, the response was “the bitters factory”.  at first taken aback, i realized i had it coming…i mean, i’m in a place that smells like industrial cleaner and tortas.  valuable lesson of the night?  don’t ask questions when the answer won’t change the outcome.

my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

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