Oh, Erie. A year and a half in your presence and I still have no idea what to make of you.

Aside from the Ox Roast, City Chicken and Pepperoni Balls, aside from the interminable number of traffic lights in a city obsessed with making cars stop but not ticketing then when they only take such signs under advisement, aside from the fact that y’all take your spring planting cues from an over-sized RAT, and aside from the over-proliferation of social clubs with the never-ending “signing of the books”, and aside from the fact that not a single damn bartender in this town knows how to serve a glass (not a shot) of whiskey NEAT, when I look around this town I think to myself:

My Dog, this place is bizarre.

And then I fortify myself with a smart cocktail with supplies I’ve secured prior to February 19th, President’s Day, when liquor stores will be closed.

Which I find interesting because if you consider the great Presidents of yore compared to those we’ve had presently,  you’d think that would be the one day we’d all want to drink.

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