A third of the way through, I'm liking the deranged midget apostle Booker, and his faithful scribe, Bartholomew Flynn. Booker's biblical rants are truly hilarious, but also sincere, and it's a mix that's working out for me. I could see myself waking up at noon on a drunken Sunday morning for a communion of "The Coffee of Christ" and a Voodoo Doughnut, especially if there were PBRs afterwards.
I'm enjoying Frost's descriptions of Portland, and my interest was piqued on page 64 as he describes all the coffees shops dotting Portland which were formally "Rexall Drugs" pharmacies. Commence Google image search! Here are a few photos of the former Star E Cafe on Alberta Street, which was once a lovely little Rexall Drugs:
I don't know if Barth's "Mecca Cafe" actually exists (the internets say "no,") but I imagine it would look a lot like this. Yeah, I'd work there.