Unholy Wars

This roadtrip, it was 29 hours long. Overnight in Leavenworth, in Seattle by noon, gone by 5, home by 10.

29 hours.

Enumerated differently: 3 enchiladas and a Bloody Mary in fake-Bavaria's Mexican Restaurant, a pint of Beamish, 2 cream cheese blintzes, a half-dozen cups of coffee, a Caramel Macchiatto, Panang Curry, a Caramel Macchiatto.

By 9pm Thursday, true to form, the sacralicious mixer was drunk and brawling steel cage style in my stomach. The enchiladas were caught off guard, but they were made of stern stuff--shredded beef--and outnumbered her 3 to 1. There are no Bavarian beers in fake-Bavaria. Fake-Bavaria features Irish beers and an assortment of local pales. Each reacts uniquely and violently with Mexican food. Intended as a calming influence, the Irish stout picked fights with both of them.

To further fan the flames of multi-ethnic gastric genocide, I was about to order a white Russian, but the bar was closing. In Leavenworth, provincial capital of fake-Bavaria, bars close at 11, four hours after every restaurant except the Mexican place.

Close early, re-open never.

In fake-Bavaria, formerly the Unholy Romanesque Empire, the German bakery keeps the same hours as your junky friend Skeet. Noon to about 2:30.

So morning brought blintzes. They were sugary. So was the macchiatto. Hours later, the curry was spicy. I think Mary and the Mick were just sobering up around this time. The curry gave them something new to do.

Back on the road and it's another Macchiatto. My jaw rattles as I yawn.

29 hours later, I hurt in so many ways.