There’s something about the interactions we have with strangers in Denver that’s hard to describe. It’s like whatever happens, it’ll inevitably be good.
For instance, this just happened: I walk around the block to our (awesome) neighborhood bar. (Best lamb burger I’ve ever had).
“Hey, I’ve got a weird request.”
That could mean anything, his eyes say. “What’s that?”
“Can you put on Fox Sports 1 at 8:00?”
“… Sure… Why, what’s on?”
“Timbers game. I’m from Portland.” I make a circular motion pointing at the dozen patrons scattered around the small place. “Nobody else here’ll be interested. Like at all.” I want him to know I feel silly asking, so I laugh.
“I don’t see a problem with that. ”
“Sure, man. Nobody else in here’s watching anything.”
“You’re awesome. Thanks!”
Finley’s in Wash Park is the place. (I’ve had like three lamb burgers in my life, ever. But believe me.)