Typical Friday Night
Friday night in downtown Austin is a madhouse. 6th street is blocked off and a varied assortment of drunks roam the street, music pouring from every doorway, action oozing from all directions. After downing several pints at Buffalo Billiards and watching a long stream of impossibly attractive women stream into the "sxsw film only" party upstairs, we stumble outside and find pizza, then fajita cart, then more pizza and eventually find a small, relatively dark and quiet bar to re-gather ourselves in. Old school punk is blaring from the jukebox and there are people with mohawks in the back playing pool. They look a bit too clean to be real punkers, the denim of their jackets still blue under the Clash patches and sharpie-marked slogans, but it's a welcome alternative to the springbreak-ish mayhem out in the streets. Nick goes to piss, and David follows soon after. Both come back looking shaken. "Did you see the sink in there?" "You could smell it before you saw it. Unmistakable." Investigating further, I find this:
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p>And it's only friday night.