The Man In the Three-Piece Suit

It’s a mild lazy summer Sunday afternoon as I walk up to a Williamsburg bar with a killer back patio that allows dogs, and fortunately for me, oversized dogs.  I order a Brooklyn lager and secure a spot in the back shaded by an oversized tree alongside Shipley, my four-year old Rhodesian Ridgeback.  We sit back and wait for what I thought would look like a youngish looking, well-dressed Texan – certainly not a common site in this neck of the woods.  The place is packed since it’s an unseasonably cooler day, as I watch various late twenties hipsters relive the previous epic night out and nurse hangovers sporting skinny-cuffed jeans and Rollie Fingers mustaches.