This must be where pies go when they die.
-Agent Dale Cooper, Twin Peaks
Everyone I know dreads Sunday night; the closure you weren’t looking for from the weekend. It’s a somber time, where you want to stay up and maybe go out but then logic gets the best of you and you opt to stay in, watch Mad Men, and then cry yourself to sleep.
Luckily for me, I have a group of pie loving friends. Said group meets every Sunday night, reflects on the weekend (which usually included a lot of dancing), and eats pie and sips on shitty but still good enough coffee in Los Feliz’s House of Pies. It’s a nice way to slip into the workweek, a belly full of pie. Unfortunately, I was so ready for the pie last night (and exhausted from Bootie LA the night before) that my photos are extra derpy and blurry, but in a way, I feel like it accurately reflects pie night: a little blurry due to the post-weekend haze, but still good.