(From Breckenridge Magazine, Summer 2011, page 37)
It’s 10:35 p.m. on a Saturday night at Breckenridge Brewpub and the randy tourist crowd is looking sluggish, worn down by a solvent of mountain air and ethanol. I’m sitting alone at a booth seat near the bar, looking like a buffoon with my sampler platter of every beer on tap. Folks walk by me, cocking their heads as I hold a tiny glass of beer up to the light, give it a sniff, take a sip, swish it around, then scribble something on my notepad.
Once the tourists clear out I find a stool at the bar, surrounded by Breck’s finest: the service-industry locals who make this town hum. Between impromptu sing-a-longs to ‘90s gangster rap and shots of Jägermeister, the locals chat me up… Click here to read the entire article online