I got these at the Greek deli down the street.
The one with the sun-bleached jars of olives, the greasy tables, and the goaty smelling gyros.
They keep their fucking tins in the refrigerated display case. That's right. Cold. And when I ordered these with my food the lady asked me if I wanted them open.
Well, now we're getting somewhere.
I put them in my pocket and rode straight home, opened a Firestone DBA, lopped off a hunk of yellow cheese and got down with the fish.
Gold indeed.
5 comments:
The DBA wasn't for me, but I did enjoy their Union Jack. Now to find that there Gold in these them hills.
Oh Man! Eva GOLD?!
Do beHAVE!
I think I'm gonna get that walrus tattooed on the inside of my arm.
Then I can copy you. It'll be sweet.
Then I can copy you. It'll be sweet.
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