"You're my girl, I like your style, just imagine all the time we could kill."

I'm in the midst of an intense artistic crisis, but I'm tickled about everything else. Last night Randy and I stayed after hours at Kelly's. I hadn't been to Kelly's since I was seventeen and Lisa assured me I could get served if I put on a little eyeliner (which did not turn out to be true). All the other patrons had left, and the bartenders were counting their tips out, laying bills on the table and smoking inside (not allowed, normally). They turned up the music and the three women sang Lionel Richie to each other, each one with a prop for a microphone - the masher for majitos, the tap handle for Heineken. We applauded when they finished.