On the last afternoon of the year, I swung into the Gold Club for no good reason except I didn't have anywhere more pressing to be. As ever, it's like someone pressed pause the last time I walked out. Gracie -- who is Thai and used to dance in a galaxy far, far away and long, long ago, and under a different name -- is behind the bar, sporting an engagement ring so large and bright that it is visible from ISS. Tigra held court at barside. There were 7 dancers present. 3 white, 2 of whom were ample. 3 latin, 1 of whom was large. And 1 african american, who was large where it mattered and small where that mattered. A group of 4 union guys were occupying the floor seats, while the bar was occupied by one older gent, one hefty gent and a construction worker. In the back, a guy who looked like Jabba the Hut was hanging out with one of the trim latinas. I did enjoyed my libations. Watched two rotations of dancers. Some lazy. Some energetic. Chatted with Tigra and Gracie. Enjoyed one, then two, then three drinks. And went on my way.
