One Time One Night In America

Friday night. Warm. Tyson's Corner, Virginia. I drive. Dolly Madison Parkway to George Washington Parkway. Francis Scott Key Bridge. Potomac. Georgetown. M Street. Friday night action. High-end shops. Money. Bars. Short skirts. Cell phones (thousands, all in use, constantly). Park the car. Walk. Noisy pub. Cold stout. Yum. Celtics-Pistons on the flat screen. Conference finals. Close game. Watching over the top of the draft handles. Empty glass. Every sip marked with a ring. Leave. Car. Drive. Friday night streets. People, people, people. Yuppies abound. Loosened ties. Tree-lined. Brownstones. Wrought iron.

DuPont Circle. Head north. Adams Morgan. Shaw. U Street. People, people, people. A more mixed crowd. Very funky. Dirtier streets. Bodegas. Bars (lots). No parking spaces. Drive the streets. Dark. Park. Walk. Live music - jazz, hip hop. Sound spills. Bistro. Walk in. Sit. Cold IPA. Yum. Celtics on the flat screen. Still close game. KG has been asleep, it seems. Only two points. Order sandwich. Noise. Young crowd. Finish. Move to barstool. Celtics trailing by 8. Fourth quarter. Detroit crowd raucus. Looks like there will be game 7. Wait. KG wakes up. Celtics run. Close gap. I can't watch. I Walk.

Two blocks. Bohemian Cavern. Pay the bouncer on the street. Down one flight. It's a cave. Really. I sat here:

History here. Duke. Cab. Aretha. Ella. Louie. Coltrane. Dolphy. Byrd. Miles. The list goes on.

Small crowd. Young (I'm always the oldest guy in the place). Mostly African-American. Table, drink. Wait. The band shows. Trio. Drums. Bass. Tenor Sax. Bop. Solos. Originals. Wails. Jazz. Coolness. 'round midnight. Brown walls. Brown floor. Brown tables. Brown instruments. Brown musicians. Brown patrons. The unused baby grand is black. The music is black. I almost miss the cigarette smoke. Almost.













[sidebar: Celtics win! The first Lakers-Celtics Finals in over two decades. All is right with the world]