Easter eve was spent tooling around on bikes in the blazing sun, then taking a break for lunch in North Beach. Jeremy scouted out sandwiches that claim to “Pittsburgh-style”, with the fries and the coleslaw mashed in between the slices of bread (can anyone verify this?). Our lawn neighbors entertained us with such activities as some kind of pizza dough tossing/hackey sack mashup, the claiming of a small section of the park as their own nation through the cunning use of flags, and a poor choice of pants for their dog. Really, I don’t know what a GOOD choice of pants are for a dog, but this pair was particularly bad. A renegade group of drunk, illegitimate golfers landed long enough to form a human pyramid, then were gone.
To finish the night, Buddhist bunnies beating the crap out of pinatas, banjo karaoke, and hobo fire paella.
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