The Burning Hell, or: “nice soul, be a shame if something were to happen to it”

There’s a little bakery close to the Zvan’s, and we’ve walked there quite a few times on this vacation. I loves me some fresh baked goods. Also, coffee.

On the way, there’s one of those free job bank publication dealies where you pull open the top, and you can pick up a copy. The front of the door has a copy of the latest publication. That publication is switched out every week, by the look of it. Something’s slightly odd about this one, though. Every time I’ve walked by this stand — during this vacation and previous visits — there’s been a religious tract in front of the paper in the door. A few days ago, I swiped it, figuring it would make an interesting post.

The very next day, the same paper was still in place, but a new copy of the tract was there. I have to wonder at some people’s dedication to wasting Earth’s resources. I hope those tracts are at least printed on recycled paper.

Photos below the fold.
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Beer O’Clock

Today, I leave Minnesota. Luckily I’m writing this post a day in advance, because right about now I’d be too teary-eyed to write, no matter how many notes I’d already taken in preparation for this post. I expect that, once home, I will revert to my less adventuresome and more hermit-like self, e.g. the lousy Canuck of my blog tagline.

One of the things I regret most about being a teetotaler through my university career (though the fact served me well in my studies) is that I simply didn’t have any experience with beer at all, so when I started drinking years later, my first experience was with the commercially mass-produced pap that is Molson Canadian. I was turned off of beer for a very long time thereafter. Until I started drinking Rickards Honey Brown, which introduced me to the novel concept that, hey, beer is actually possibly quite drinkable and even — dare I say it — tasty.
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