The jazz club was half-filled with half-crocked people when I arrived. They were shoulder-to-should forming a “J” around the bar. If we were a ship we’d be listing to the starboard side and rapidly taking on water. They had apparently finished taking a brewery tour of the micro-brewery down the block. Since I was early, I poured myself a cup of black lightning from the coffee pot and sat down next to the empty stool where the bartender sits. The barman was happily pouring beers, mixing drinks, and keeping everyone lubricated. I scanned the crowd to get a sense – they are young and happy. Settled my gaze on a couple seated the height of a basketball player away from me. I could see the young man’s face and the back-of-head brown hair of the young woman he was talking to. His eyebrows gave him an earnest look as he talked. I tried to use my Doorman radar, which if used properly can be as accurate as bat echolocation, to get a sense of whether she is amused, bemused, or bored. Since he was starting to slur his eyebrow nonverbal words, it was clear that even with bumpers he wouldn’t be rolling any strikes. She wasn’t drinking so it was a train wreck in the making. Later, I watched as two friends helped earnest eyebrows out the door, as he was stumble-down drunk. He did stumble on the entry step until his friends guided him in the direction of their car. Miss Brown Hair had joined her other friends as life went on.
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