It's the season for weirdness, Fantasy Fest, All Hallow's Eve and the Day of the Dead all rolled into a week more or less. So finding a rather large peculiar cat on a porch shouldn't surprise anyone. I just can't imagine coming home to this thing on my porch.
For the matter of that I couldn't ever picture myself at Don's Place an infamous dive on Truman Avenue. Bars are not my scene and this place is way out of my league, a smoker's haven, loud and open 21 hours out of the day. I am a rank amateur. Conversation is complicated because of the noise but I suppose that at say 7am, when they open, the sounds might be muted. A colleague of mine used to come here after our night shift and drink beer before walking home. I would much rather sit on my couch at home and imitate a potato with Yuengling. Not only would I not have to make conversation, I would also not smell like a bonfire.
I met Rick from Boston here and we met at Don's Place at my suggestion so I am grateful to him for putting up with my inane desire to see new things. He was in town for Fantasy Fest (!) and the subsequent Meeting of the Minds though he had never seen the Masquerade March before so we went to check it out.
One thing I must say about Don's Place is that the bar tender was superhuman. Usually when I go to bars I get roundly ignored, my mellifluous mid-Atlantic tones fail to garner attention from the pourer of drinks. This guy was a demon and even though I was merely drinking diet Coke (work: the curse of the drinking classes) he was on me like a fly on the proverbial. Indeed even in the picture he was moving faster than my camera shutter could capture him.
Just to increase my feeling of being at home I was showered by bits of plastic foam which gave my drinking an otherwise unexpected air of jollity. Time to go. On the way to the Local's Parade I spotted a reminder of the true meaning of Fantasy Fest; making money...
Conversely Fantasy Fest is the time of year when meeting random zombies towing drinks is a normal street scene.