Monday evening in Pigtown. The sizzle of scallions and protein made a gastropub of the Behlkes’ pristine kitchen, a harbor gray showroom. For now, an orange box uglied up the place.

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Hi! I’m sorry! I can’t believe I’m so late. On the way here I got what I could only describe as “Twilight Zoned”. It’s when your Uber turns into a taxi and the driver is revealed to be a deceased person, in order to teach you a lesson about hubris.

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