father's day

For father's day P said "just do whatever you want to," so I rounded up some old friends and went out to the country, to drink morning beers, watch the world cup, drive around, and seek out heinekens and photo-ops and to sneak cigarettes.  Eventually we found ourselves in Historic St. Helens, OR, on the mighty Columbia River.  We walked around chewing on grass stalks that were probably well fertilized/covered in insecticides, seeking viewpoints and a hole in the wall bar, to the extent we could.  There were good bluffs but no dives. We split up, not by design.  The only bars were terrible family restaurants and "brew pubs," characterless junk.  We spotted a cantina on the way into Historic St. Helens, which would have to do.  There was a playground out on the waterfront, and there were fathers galavanting about with their kids, and I hastened to round up my friends and ask if we could go home, and we did.  Not before stopping at the cantina though, which was as terrible as you could expect.

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