When I lived in Kalamazoo, Michigan, my old bff and I used to be once-a-week regulars at an Irish pub called O’Duffy’s.   She (conveniently) lived across the street and we’d have our standing Wednesday night date to complain to Chris, our neighborhood bartender, about everything happening in our Kalamazoo lives.  We’d belly up to the ornately carved bar and drink Bombay Sapphire …

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