Bar tacos.

One Saturday after work after a big basketball game that the local university team ended up losing in a really disappointing way, I ended up heading across the street to this (old) (townie) dive bar, and a big group of people way down at the other end of the bar had this big aluminum catering tray of stuff out and so I assumed that they had brought in food for some party like maybe for a party around the game, and then when I was on my second beer, the (older) (short-haired) (dyed blonde) (fatter) (back-tatted) (female) bartender brings it down to our end of the bar and dumps it there and says that there’s tacos for anyone who wants them.

And, I grab one and unwrap it from the tin foil and it’s amazing, and so I ask her when she’s back over by me who brought it in and she says a regular, and later when a (young) (white) guy in (team) gear by the bar grabs a taco after I point them out to him and he asks who brought them in, I tell him that, and he just nods solemnly and is like, “They’re the real hero tonight.”

Later, too, since I’m still unclear on the situation, I ask that same bartender again when she’s back over by me if that regular works at a taqueria or has money to burn or what, and at that she just laughs and is like, “Both!”, and then she says that the regular is the owner of a regional taco chain that she names by name, he comes in here a lot and he does that every so often for people, he just brings in a huge thing of tacos for all the people who are hanging out drinking so they can have a good time.

. . .

(I end up eating two there and take one to go when no-one else is eating them, and then like at 3am or 4am that night I wake up with this just horrendous heartburn from the spicy red sauce that all the bits of steak were covered in, though luckily I have some Tums that were left me by the one [worked out] [STEM] [Brazilian] when he moved, and so I chew a few of those and am able to go back to sleep again right away, no problem.)