stop messing with my cans

after dinner in the haight on friday night, i linked arms with todd's and grinned, thinking of our spicy coconut-based soups with noodles and vegetables, and way-to-close-to-our-dining-neighbors table (the woman asked her date a fairly insightful baseball question, but his poorly conceived not-even-drunk-off-sake baseball response made us cringe).

so we were homeward bound, and a few minutes later, out of the blue, came words i never thought i'd hear. "hey, girly, your titties smell like beer!" now, i don't drink beer, but if it smells like a combination of laundry detergent, cotton, and lever 2000, well, then the local homeless brigade nailed it on the head.

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