This is more of a mystery if anything and I'm actually looking for an answer. Here is the account of what happened today.
Today I went to Powell's Books on Hawthorne and as I was passing the Safeway near 27th I saw a man running on the opposite side of the street. When I say running I mean not "jogging" or doing it for exercise, he was running as if to get away from something or urgently get somewhere. Often people will do this to catch a bus or stop someone whom they were talking to a moment ago and needed to tell them one last thing, but no buses had gone by and he didn't stop for 2 1/2 blocks.
This man had sandy blond hair, a faded red button up shirt and jeans on with what I assume were Converse sneakers. He looked like he was on his way to get some coffee or return a video by the way he was dressed ... except that he was sprinting to his destination. When he came to a stop it was in front of the farmer's market, so I just assumed that he was making a fruit salad and dammit all if he didn't have any kiwis!! This is of course an emergency that requires such physical exertions as sprinting almost 3 blocks ( and maybe more since he could have been running from much further behind me). So I took him to be a crazy fruit nut and went on my way.
As I was nearing the farmer's market I decided to go next door and get muffin from Grand Central since I hadn't had breakfast. I spent 10 minutes inside and then when I emerged, who should I see but the crazy fruit sprinter. Except he was coming from even further down Hawthorne (he went past the farmer's market apparently) and was not carrying fruit, but beer? It's 10:30 in the morning. On a weekday. And he RAN down the street for more than 3 blocks ... to pick up a case of PBR?!
This is the enigma that is PBR sprinter. I'm sure there is some easy logical explanation for all of this, but damned if I know what the fuck that is! I can't think of a single situation in which I'm sitting with some friends or co-workers, and we've just finished having our eggs, bacon, and coffee, and one of them turns to me and says,
"HOLY SHIT! I FORGOT TO GET SOME PBR LAST NIGHT!!"
Then another one drops what he/she is doing and replies,
"WHAT?! What the hell are we supposed to drink now?! Water?!"
After some finger pointing and blaming one another for this egregious error, we decide that which ever one of us is in the best physical condition should go and sprint down Hawthorne to the 7 Eleven and retrieve a case of PBR so that we can start consuming it immediately before we die of LAS (Lack of Alcohol Shock).
If anyone has a better idea please let me know. That's about as close as I'm going to get.