A true story of boy meets girl, they hit it off, boy loses girl:
Sometime during the '90's, probably 1994, when I lived on Manhattan's Upper West Side, I once spent a night at a neighborhood bar that had an excellent jukebox, which I of course programmed with loads of tunes. The cute bartender, whose name is lost from my memory, enjoyed my selections, so I figured I would chat her up. We got on well and had a great time, with her occasionally matching me with a shot. Eventually the extended version of this song came on and, transported by good vibes and good tequila, I serenaded her with it, much to her delight.
What most of you don't know is that when I want to I can sing in a beautiful tenor tone, and even used to sing in mu junior high's chorus, so I can nail a song when so desire.
Anyway, when the record ended, she pulled me down from the bar top (where I pretended to be a swashbuckling romantic pirate while singing to her) and kissed me long and deep. Bear in mind that I had only known this woman for a few hours, so this was gravy on a great night. And it should be noted that the kissing happened in front of her just dropped in brother, and he was quite appalled at the torrid PDA.
At the end of the night I asked if I would see her again if I dropped by, so she wrote down her work days and told me to return. Sadly, when I returned a few nights later, she was not present. When I asked the bartender where she was, I was told that she had been "let go." Alas, I neglected to give her my number, as I did not want to ruin a fun evening by coming on too strong and seeming desperate. Tragic, and she was punk rock Velma cute.
Just
another of many crazy bar incidents during my Manhattan years. Looking
back on that time now, I realize 29-year-old me would never have
predicted the state of himself 28 years in the future. If he had, he
just might have cranked his booze 'n' drugs adventuring up to 11. Good
thing he never knew...
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