So, it was money well-spent to see Derrick in such rare (but not unusual) form; you’d have thought it was all over after we realized the bar at the airport Holiday Inn isn’t that glowing orb on top, but when 10 shots of Maker’s appeared, it was obvious things were just beginning and when he rode away straight into the parking lot gate, you knew your entertainment dollar was going to go a long way.
And although it kinda burns my mind’s eye to recall it, I can still see the upright dog pile on the dance floor at the joint I will refer to fondly now as The Trud where the bartender, at least, so loved us that she raced outside for photos as we were leaving.
It sure makes the ride to the airport a lot shorter when you take the train out there and International Boulevard isn’t nearly as steep if you only ride it downhill, so we were on Fourth Avenue and at the Orient Express before anyone could even sober up which meant that whatever promises were made were unlikely to be kept, although there’s no question that the costs on all sides were higher than expected.
Still, it was money well-spent and if you think of it as a kind of local disaster relief, maybe even justified, even if we never go back there—as if they’d ever let us.
I finished up with a nightcap at Waid’s where I commiserated with my friend, the owner, about his family and loved ones in Haiti; his night was dealing with a real catastrophe; mine, a traveling roadshow of what that’s like.
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