Come On, Fool Porterfull

Gabe and I were at local bar, Harry Boland's (from which this picture was taken) reading Finnegan's Wake (from which this title was taken) tonight. As we were reading about a drunken caveman, we were approached by Tim. Tim is a fan of Finnegan's Wake, and rendered a dramatic reading of the first/last sentence from memory. The next thirty minutes were a whirlwind of Tim opening the book to pages which were roughly near pages he thought he remembered enjoying, Tim confusing Finnegan's Wake for other books, and Tim accidentally confusing Gabe's beer for Tim's shot. It was utterly delightful, and we're hoping to see him there on our next excursion this Saturday.

P.S. I blame my lack of posts recently on this being my dear brother's birth-weekend (and if you forgot to wish him a happy one, shame on you) and the fact that the weekend, in which I full expected 72 hours for picture taking, doctoring, and the writing of posts only lasted 71 hours. Blame the farmers, folks. They've screwed everything up. Again.