Mindful of the gorgeous weather, and aware also of his duty to imbibe responsibly, he strode forth from his keep and made the journey to his tavern of choice on foot. And yet, even as he walked, he was plagued by phantom voices, and they spoke in his mind and said unto him “this is stupid” and “you’re already sweating” and “why are you carrying a freaking windbreaker, asshole?” But he harkened not, and stubbornly continued to walk as might a self-satisfied European or even a self-righteous San Franciscan. And then, like an oasis on the horizon, he didst spy his destination: The Bearded Lady, within which he found succor, and also his buddy from sixth grade. And there was much rejoicing.