OF COURSE MY CAMERA BATTERY WAS DEAD, SO EXCUSE THE SHITTY Blackberry photos. But that's definitely Cafe Brasil manager Rodrigo pouring tequila down his throat via an airhorn at 7am this morning during a soccer party for the Mexico/South Africa match, which ended in a 1-1 tie. Cafe Breezy takes soccer as serious as Jesse the Parking Lot King takes his Seal cassette, so today should be the first of many mornings that my eyes open to the sounds of bullhorns booming over "Kiss From A Rose". Today was Latino Palms exclusive: the CB crew, a few local waitresses, some round-the-way older gents, my neighbor Josh, the Santa Monica Seafood deliveryman with his truck double-parked. One taquero stood duty as another paced around on his cellphone, speculating on taco futures in the wake of a possible Mexico win. Rodrigo poured tequila in my coffee, and a charming young lady yelling "SI SE PUEDE" passed me a napkin after I coughed the bottle's plastic seal up. Lovely people.

As I write this, I'm eavesdropping on an argument in the lot between lot owner DOINTBIG, who is repeating the terms "trash", "nine years" and "trespassing", and Jesse, who is sticking admirably to "I don't give a" and "fuck". DOINTnotsoBIG just walked off. If Darth Vader bitchslaps the emperor, doesn't that make him the emperor?

Saints & Sinners tonight! The soccer party was over before 9am, two hours before Cafe Brasil even opened. So I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Tonight must make it right. 10899 Venice Blvd. I'm on ten till two. Come watch me put my head in summer's mouth.

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