level and said, “Hey, bitches,” then, earnestly, perhaps less joyfully than she might have earlier in her shift: “Are you thirsty bitches?” She said it with a sense of duty. We were at a restaurant called Bacon Bitch, and this is what is done there. Bacon Bitch had come up in a Google search for “brunch nearby” on a Sunday afternoon in Miami Beach, and when I’m presented with an option that sounds like a waking nightmare, I am powerless to pass it up. So we went and ordered the Bloody Marys with the
