“Here lies Lester Moore. Four slugs from a .44. No Les, no more.” I always remembered that amazing headstone at Boot Hill in Tombstone, AZ, from when I was a kid. I even had a T-shirt! So, when we were told that people come from all over the state to hit up Tombstone, we knew we had to get back down there. And, so it was. After perusing the streets with the in-laws, taking vintage old-timey photos, and doing all the other touristy shit, Ang and I left them to OK Corral it while we went and shared a flight. Stupid driving.
Drinking four bomb chron bomb bombs from them made me realize why people travel far and wide for their beers. Shit is real! Super-sad we couldn’t get the triple IPA in cans, but we settled for a 4-pack of a DIPA they didn’t have on tap. Also, we met some guys from Phoenix who confirmed the lust, as they had woken up on this fine morning and decided to drive all the way down for some beers.
Next time, we’re fucking staying here overnight so we can pillage all the beers properly. Thanks to Britney and Marsha...we’ll be back! P.S. I tried to find a shirt similar to the one I got when I was a kid. No luck. The touristy, kitschy T-shirt game in Tombstone has a real design problem nowadays. Cheers, ya bastards! 🤠 - Ryan
From: Tombstone, AZ 🇺🇸