Confessions of a Human Nerve Ending

When in the course of human civilization, we come to abandoning old habits for the greater good; we take the challenge boldly; we march forward as if our destiny awaits; we stand before the masses and proclaim, “I will do it.  I will sacrifice for the greater good.”  It is from this understanding that I ask us, once again, to bravely venture forth, to suffer the relative indignity, to give up what has been characterized as poor manners for the sake of all; I ask us when ordering a bottle or can of beer to forgo the accompanying glass.  Alas the accompanying glass, even chilled, is not needed as the humble bottle, the lined aluminum can is a perfectly suitable holder of beverage.  Indeed it held the beverage from brewery to truck, from truck to warehouse, from warehouse to truck, from truck to store or restaurant and now occupies the most proud and esteemed location upon the table next to the coffee mug and above the knife and spoon. Surely pouring a beer into a glass is a way of

Down Route 66 from the student ghetto, through the empty office wasteland and cheap motels of the eastern edge of Edo (East Downtown), Farina Pizzeria holds court in a long, exposed brick wall flat with a slightly elevated patio jutting out from the back of the building with scenic views of a parking lot, a dentist office, the fancy Artichoke Café , and the ever empty Pop-N-Taco like a misplaced Forepeak on a too long ship.  It’s the rugged façade, the slightly seedy ambience of Central Ave, and exposed brick that testifies that the pizza here is special (it better be because you either live in the neighborhood or drove the above gauntlet to get here). Inside, along the west wall and in the middle of the restaurant, a polished wood bar with two sets of black handled taps, fine liquors lined up behind, and slightly tilted wine bottles sets the mood as to what to expect:  casual yet quick service, whispered conversations, and simple, yet tasteful pizza.  Though there isn’t a sig