Bigfoot Lodge — Restaurant in Los Angeles

His bones are white. White like day, not like the night. I carry his bones with me softly in a pouch I have constructed specifically in which to carry his bones. Sometimes if I can’t find a pillow, I will use the pouch to support my resting head as I lay down at night, but this is not very comfortable because his bones poke the back of my head through the pouch. If I lay on my side, his bones poke my cheek.

I carry his bones for several miles a day. One day I carried his bones 14 miles, but I was just barely maintaining a heinous pace, and the landscape was mostly all flat… The better on which to carry his bones about. To amuse myself while carrying his bones, I sometimes swing the pouch around above my head, to-and-fro, all of the livelong ten minutes. I recently have cut back greatly on how often I swing about his bones, as just the other day one of his bones went flying from the pouch as I swung it. It had somehow escaped through the tiny opening where the zipper met the edge of the material. I’m not sure which one of his bones it was… It was obviously a small one of his bones. I never found where it landed, but I heard it go whizzing by and thump to the ground. At night, I thump to the ground myself… Just like one of his bones did.

When he lived he called me Marty. In death his bones do not call to me. Some men call me Percy. Other men call me PeachPit. Some men still call me nothing at all, and it is these men whose company I prefer. When they find their way to me, we travel in silence. I always carry his bones. One of the men lit up a cigarette once, and I swiftly pummeled him about the head and neck.

“No smoking,” I said, breaking the beautiful silence and nodding in the direction of his bones, “not in the presence of his bones.” From that day forth, no man smoked... No man nowhere.

Mostly I carry his bones towards the rising sun. Some days I carry his bones towards the setting sun. A few times I carried his bones straight downward, but traversable holes were becoming fewer and far between in the modern landscape.

I carried his bones to a Christmas party, but the hostess became greatly upset when I wouldn’t put the pouch containing his bones on the bed with all the jackets on it.

“Just relax for a little while, enjoy the party, his bones will be safe in the bedroom,” She had said, taking me for some kind of chump. I left that party.

His bones seem noticeably heavier some days. I chalk that up to magic. His bones tend to be quite manageable for the most part. One day, Inhospitable Steve and I had sat down across from each other at his strange, absurdly large, haunted table that he kept in his garage and poured out his bones in front of us. We counted them, arranged them in funny shapes, and named each one for the U.S. state it most resembled. Also the table levitated a few times, because it was haunted.

Inhospitable Steve tried to keep one of his bones without telling me, but I caught him in the act and threw him into the side of his above-ground swimming pool, which collapsed and buckled around him, sending a deluge of water over his lawn and flooding his basement.

On the night of my birthday, I laid down in the tall grass along the shores of Rag Oil Bay, nestling in comfortably among the reeds and puddles of stagnant water. I slammed my bare feet forcibly into a swath of brambles and thorny vines, hoping that a little bit of old fashioned footblood would keep the mosquitoes, snakes, mosquitosnakes, and other creepy-crawlies away from my face long enough for me to get some rest. I gently placed his bones under my head and drifted off.

Also, Bigfoot lodge is a pretty okay...

My friends and I stopped at this bar just to check it out, it has a cool look to it. My friends didn't want to stay though, but I felt bad to sit then leave so I bought a Shirley temple and tipped the bar tender. After escorting my very drunk friends out of the bar (I was the sober friend) we went to eat and I took them home. On arriving at one friends home we realized she left her wallet behind. My friend need to get to bed so I put her to bed but she needed her wallet in the morning and so I said I would go see if they would give it too me. Now I know that 99% of the time the person has to get their own wallet but I was hopping the bartender might have remembered me and the group of drunk girls. I get to the place at 2:45 AM (roughly) and was thinking they were closed, but the door was not locked. So I stepped in and found three people sitting at the bar. Thinking they were employees I asked about the wallet and I quickly realized they were customers who were STILL drinking. They directed me to the bartender sitting at the other end and called for him. As I started to cross the bar he yelled "You have to leave" I was confused and he yelled again "Get out, you can't just walk in here" at this I said a bit confused the door was open. He continued not exactly yelling but in a raised voice telling me to leave in not so nice ways. I just replied politely that my friend forgot her wallet and I was wondering if they had it. He then asked if it was my wallet. When I said no he started back in his raised voice saying I had to leave (not so nice) and she would have to come get it. I tried to ask if he could just check and make sure they had it, but he cut me off and continued in his very unpleasant manor. So after my very long night taking car of drunk friends, I got yelled at by a bartender who wouldn't even listen to me and for something at wasn't my fault. I didn't leave the door unlocked and he was still serving at least three different people. I don't care that I couldn't get the wallet, but I do care about being disrespected and yelled at. It's now 4:05 so that was a big rude waste of my time. I will never be taking anyone to this place again, nor will I recommend it, and I will encourage everyone to...

I am ambivalent about this place. On the one hand they have one of the best everyday happy hours (5-9). On the other hand, it is overly hipster. And, the two simply cannot go hand in hand.

The drinks: From good to bad. The first drink that was made for me was on par with the best I've had. Yet, my second drink was haphazardly concocted and as such was not great. Why the discrepancy, I do not know.

The ambiance: It was great at first when very few people were there at around 8pm. Mostly individuals holding booth for their later to arrive friends. At around 9:30 p.m. the place started to fill mostly with regulars - groups that seemed to know each other. The worst was having to contend with one gal dressed in a moose print dress wearing a Davy Crockett hat shrieking at the site of everyone she knew.

If I ever do come again, it shall be between the...