Oh, Beth’s… Now that I have found you, there is a small and forever wired part of me that wonders how I managed to survive even six months in this town without you. Never again will I have to wonder where to go after last call on a Wednesday night. Never will I have to wonder where the wild things are…”Beth’s is the archetypal greasy spoon,” I wrote in this week’s review. “A Peter Pan restaurant that opened in 1954 and never grew up. More than 50 years in business? That means, if you’ve got some generational history in the area, your grandmother probably behaved badly at Beth’s back in her day–tooled up on corn mash, running with a rough crowd, climbing on the tables and showing bikers her lady business. It survived a fire ten years ago. Every night is like a riot on the floor. Nothing will ever kill Beth’s, despite the fact that the menu seems, in certain places, custom-made to kill you.”And all of that is true. 12-egg omelets and towering plates of hash browns, serving tater tots to drunks and hot coffee to night creatures who just can’t stand the thought of letting one moment of moon time pass them by–Beth’s has been there for generations of Seattle’s bad children and fun hogs and will probably remain long after we have all gone on to straight jobs, mortgages, cholesterol-lowering medications and, eventually, our final reward.Thankfully, though, photographer Peter Mumford was able to capture one fleeting moment in the history of Beth’s as a companion to this week’s review. So click through to the slideshow to check out a vision of Seattle after sunset and to see how the dark half lives…