So...German test. This calls for a breakfast of champions. So, on to Bruegger's.* One cup of hazelnut coffee and one everything bagel later, I'm back on Merrimon Ave. to head back to UNCA. As per usual, that conduit of death holds more terror than a bag full of Egyptian Asps. Turn left onto Merrimon, avoiding the white econo-box that threatens my rear quarterpanel, then snake carefully between on-coming traffic and the black sports car that feels the need to show off his muscle. Patiently wait for the right lane to become clear six inches before turn to University.
Sit in German for three hours. Bah.
Pick up lunch for redthought
and myself at Rio Burrito. Remember why I love Asheville, as parking angel provides parallel park only half-block from restaurant. After fifteen minutes of small talk with Tom, the owner of RB (who can only remember my name three-fifths of the time), pick up bundles of beany/cheesy joy and head back to the car. Chat with Australian who needs directions to the Biltmore Estate as I stroll back towards my park.
Ah, Asheville. The one place on earth where the police are more suspicious of the suits than the hippies, where a store called WonderPot is the one place in town that doesn't
sell grass, and I may not be well known, but they do seem to recognize me.
I'm pimpin' this town, yo. *ahem* Come visit sometime.
*For those of you stuck in a non-Bruegger's having area...I'm so sorry.