Healy looks at me and says. Maybe I should get out of this town. The beer is not the best. The service is indifferent if you aren't a local. Tourists wear running shoes and they don't get served.
Locals wear hiking boots and they do.
After a few tastes I give up on the beer. We walk over to Little Annie's and drink Colorado's best beer, Fat Tire, from the tap. A family wearing clothing that cost more money than I made last year walks in and Healy freezes as their angelic child waves hello. The child stares at a waitress and she drops her tray. That's Randall the devil child.