After an aborted attempt to get a beer at the sweltering Dragonfly on West Port, I kept walking and ended up here at the Traverse. Slick, but not much happening. The crowd mainly consists of overdressed theatre types, featuring many gay men, here to get cultured up at one of the preeminent Fringe stages. I find myself sitting on a bench beside two redheaded Irish girls, both drinking Innis and Gunn and talking in upper-class accents about their 55 year old new age parents. I am jealous of their beverage, as my Traverse Ale is the usual run-of-the-mill Stewart stuff.
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