One night I went hunting for some place to dance.
First stop was Virgilio’s, a small club in a narrow alley. Half indoors and with a star-tickler of a kapok tree in the half outdoors side, Virgilio’s is a local’s choice. Plus, Alex the bartender is always at the ready with my favorite bottled water. But the band was taking a break, so I paid for my water and split.
I stopped in at the fabled Green Parrot, a low slung clapboard structure with rafters hung with beads and bras. The music, while fiercely performed by a meth-fueled violinist, was impossible to dance to. The song finished and the fiddler said, “I’m gonna take a short break. Don’t go nowhere.”
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