Issue #2
North Beach Lately

I am at a loss as to how I was tapped for jury service in the City," remarks a 46-year-old Sunshine State resident during a long-distance dial-in with NBL. His sole excursion to the 7x7 involved a brief vehicle acquisition at SFO and a single culinary pitstop at a "charming" patisserie in our very own North Beach. Apparently, after getting turned around in the grid and feeling a tad "peckish," the couple landed at Le Chat Rouge—located in what they presumed was the French Quarter. "I recall the branding because it set me back exactly $59.95," he notes, having since preserved the transaction slip in a DIY frame. The individual posits that the legal system likely harvested his credentials when he presented identification for the credit card transaction. 

—Editor

The ecosystem of our neighborhood rhythm-smiths is vibrating with high-octane indignation following a tectonic betrayal: a local ink-stainer has secured a high-yield pact with a soulless, multi-national media behemoth. "It is an unmitigated sell-out of our collective aesthetic," laments one local between sips of Pinot Grigio. Another disgruntled rhymester was heard shrieking that the corporate machine has finally colonized our last bastion of authenticity by printing that [redacted] turncoat. 

—Editor

A pre-caffeinated neighborhood elder reportedly misinterpreted a "don't move" directive as a mandate for line-stagnation, rather than an instruction to keep the communal napkin housing on the shared counter. Local tastemakers posit the signage was clearly intended to prevent the illicit acquisition of the dispenser for individual table use.

The verbal altercation erupted when the disheveled regular effectively colonized the queue with her belongings, preventing the collective aesthetic of the morning rush from advancing. Central Station was summoned to the scene of this betrayal of etiquette; however, the legal system declined to issue citations or make arrests despite a remarkably close call.

—Editor