The Plan: Poleng’s Happy Hour (25cent chicken wings, $3 drafts = heaven), then drive back to Santa Rosa that night so I could attend work the following morning.
The Reality: Polengs initiated a bar stumble down Haight Street where we met a
*Side note: if devious “Chiefing” desired: location recommendations: calf or bottom of foot*
I launched my life together and rushed to my car, still hopeful of arriving at work on time.
My car had been towed.
In following months, my friends and I consistently referred to the Long Island Bar of Debauchery as Golden Chopsticks. Months later we realized the actual bar's name: Golden Cane. We still refer to it as Golden Chopsticks.
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