Look, I know the picture is too long. Chill.
The line stretches from the front door to past the apartment where Chandra Levy used to live. There you go dude. Now go back to bed.
I also saw someone in line I used to respect. But I didn’t say hi. He doesn’t need me to add to his embarrassment of queuing up to see The Reflex at 7am.
Update: The last two entries have made us sound distinctly anti-St. Patrick’s Day. We are not. We just dislike our drunk friends insisting we go to overheated bars and asking that we entertain that troll-looking girl while you talk to her traffic cone-shaped friend.
UpdateII: Alright. I'm sorry; the girl did not look like a troll.
But I’m pretty sure she said she lived under a bridge. And I think she mentioned that if given the opportunity she would grind my bones to make her bread.