Tickle Me, Lil Thuggie

"Okay, mom," he said. Then he asked for money to go to Burger King. I gave him five bucks.

When I got to Il Pirata, I put my sunglasses on and tilted my head back as the waitress brought my drink. Around me, people were biking, driving, and walking up and down 16th Street. Of all the neighborhoods in the city, this one probably gets the least amount of out-of-'hooders. Chances are that most of the people to your right and left in any given Potrero Hill venue actually live in Potrero Hill. That somehow makes Il Pirata even more authentic to me. Normally I don't kowtow to bars that try to be too many things, but for this place, it just works. It's not self-conscious about it. Il Pirata just acts like itself.

I wondered if I'd ever see Lil Thuggie again. Maybe if I ride the 22 to try to find him, I'll have another excuse to go to Il Pirata.

Inside the bar, a victorious darts player exclaimed, "Whoaaaa!" His excitement came from either his play or something good that happened during the game on TV. I sat and drank and watched the sun sink lower in the sky.

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