And where’s the party, anyway?
Look, our immigration laws are complete bullshit, but the reality of Murat’s (the The Amuse-Bouche Guy) situation is just absurd. This guy is married to a U.S. citizen, could have easily stayed here legally, but instead just let his visa expire while he chilled out selling muffins. His plight is a fucking insult to everyone that has to fight to be here illegally, who have to endure watching their loved ones get deported back countries with oppressive regimes in power while they work for slave wages because of their government-mandated undocumented status, all the while having absolutely no chance to be here legally.
Murat had the golden ticket and opted to not cash it in. Let’s have a conversation about the people with real problems.
SF is fag friendly. If you’re into retards, go to Portland or some shit.
Restroom door at El Zocalo. Taken from The Tens.
Reading Brolores Park is better than watching The Office on Hulu:
As mayor and former next door neighbor to Lark In the Morning, I feel I must say a few words in eulogy.
Lark in the Morning was a store for bros. Not regular mnstrm bros, but bros who truly understand what it means to be authentic. Bros could be seen going in and out of Lark in the Morning from morn til night, seeking authenticity in the form of banjos, ukeleles, bagpipe reeds, and all other manner of authentic musical instruments. Walking into the store was like walking into one’s ancestral bro home. The ceiling and walls weren’t all corporate and bare, but instead looked like something you’d find in a locked, hidden room in a Scottish castle, being a bower of wood, string, and pipes.
Living next to Lark in the Morning gave me a sense of connection to the authentic brommunity, as it must have to all the bros who larked about its doors. Lark in the Morning, u will be missed. May your stores lark in the heavens with medieval banjo accompaniment. <3 U /// MISS U /// R.I.P.