Mine will be a Guinness

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The above photo shows what I see over my shoulder when I’m cycling home along Eleventh Street. In the distance you can see the State Capitol building (Texans made a point of building it higher than the one in Washington).

Being a Thursday, traditionally I grab a pint of Guinness at B.D. Riley’s on Sixth Street at the end of the day with a reporter I met at the Austin Business Journal. He’s Boston-Irish and hence reintroduced me to this Irish staple. Before he took me there, I hadn’t drunk a Guinness in over a decade. The last time was at a party during undergraduate days, when I had a bad experience and so never touched it again. Until now. How things change. I can’t get enough of its creamy top and the swirling effervescing mystery going on within the glass just after the pint has been poured.

Sometimes that pint is poured by a lovely creature called Cat. We spoke to her for the first time last week, having been transfixed on previous occasions by her beauty, which seemed Asiatic in origin but was hard to place. It turns out her father was an American GI and met her mother in Vietnam, after which the newly formed family moved back to the U.S. Her father now suffers health problems as a result of Agent Orange, a reminder of the lingering legacy of that war.

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