Confessions. But What The Heck.

I'm in the dock, and I'm guilty and all.
As charged.
The courtroom, packed to the rafters, is abuzz with shock, with consternation, and some are outright indignant.
"How could he?" is the general refrain.
That treachery is afoot seems to be the overriding opinion, and who can blame them?
For yours truly spent two hours at Pecos, and the only thing he drank out of a mug in that period was water.
Yes, indeed.
One hundred and twenty minutes at Pecos and not a single gulp of beer.
No puns, no sting in the tail, no punchline. That's what happened.
We landed up at the temple, and we ordered food.
I had eggs and bacon, and sausages and mashed potatoes. And chicken stew and appams. And chilli potato (awesome!). And scrambled eggs and dosa. And loads of coffee.
What a place, people. I mean, we know about the beer (heh heh. Yes, we do. Kinda.), but the temple houses another god, and he be pretty OK too.
This might not make sense to people from other parts of the world, but Pecos is pretty much like Apache at night and Good Luck by morning. A pub that does an incredibly decent breakfast.
Me be in love all over again.
And to all those people who're about to break contact with the undersigned, this was the morning after.
After eight pitchers of beer between four people, two of whom consumed one between them.
And I was on the other team, thank you very much.