The club is empty when I arrive. The bartender as soothsayer predicts we'll be busy come 9:30pm. Turns out he received calls from several groups a bit earlier. A woman with two others crowded behind her announces that she has a public TV membership card entitling her to two admissions for one. Didn't want to spoil their little field trip, so I honored it. We probably won't see any of them again, but it won't hurt when they return to their deep suburban fortresses and can talk excitedly about their dangerous night out to the jazz club. Another group that crowded the doorway is a bunch of scrub-faced underage kids. I begin to dissuade them, since I'm continually reminded to not allow the under 21 set. I learn that they're a part of a jazz class. The teacher arranged for them to visit but no one told me. They were admitted with pinky swears they won't try to drink. The horns in the jazz quintet are on fire tonight--actually everyone sounds good. The packed club is in for a treat. I finish the night and have seasonal beer at the bar. I'm enjoying the last of the night's music when I become aware that someone has sat next to me. He's an older man...a clear jazz lover. We get talking about all the big name jazz greats who've visited our city over the years. He tells me about a relative who was working at a venue that got him in to meet Miles Davis, which is cool. An attractive woman leaves her man friend at the table to step up to the bar to order a drink. I tell her I'd like to get a photo of her and her friend for the club's Facebook page. She hesitates and says she's 40-years-old and on a blind date, courtesy of match.com. Her date seems fine to me, but she's not pleased. It's got to be tough to date with experience, expectation and reality all vying for a place in a yeah/nay decision on whether to invest the time in getting to know someone new.