Get A Grip

Something about an old jukebox, a sweaty wood interior, with incense burning, cheap whiskey drinks and small glasses of red wine overflowing from the drunk waitresses drink tray makes me smile.

I remember fluttering feathers, twirling pasties and ambiguously gay folks laughing and drinking casually throwing their money at the sweet sexy females turning on both gay and straights.

This was before the modern day Pussycat Dolls and films like Burlesque. Before most of these kids were born. Back when the economy wasn't failing miserably and people didn't worry about naturally disasters and terrorist attacks.

It was a time when street players fiddled on their violins and particular alleys housed cheap Gypsy folks who wanted nothing more than to celebrate and dance.

The true medicine to forget troubled times.