Limes
I tell you this, good limes and Austin are like farts and church: the two just don’t mix. Everywhere you go down there people are trying to feed you queso and pour a bunch of “dressed” shots of tequila down your troats. I wouldn’t have a problem with that if the damn limes had a little bit of juice in ‘em and weren’t as dry as a sponge left out in the sun for two days after a Girl Scout car wash, if you know what I mean…
