I went back to Indy again last week. Last night I had some free time so I went out. The following account was written on my iPhone. Please forgive the misspellings and nonsensical portions. It’s hard to type properly without whittling down my thumbs and it’s hard to make sense when I had to take a break to drink beer or walk to a different bar. The names have not been changed to protect the guilty and the editing has not been done because I’m lazy.

The dancers were as enthusiastic as you’d find at a dry wedding. Mostly mid 20s and trying to relive their college youth. As Sir Mix Alot comes on there is a vague rwsembelance to Rump Shaker but with a sack of Vienna sausages. The white women had found their “back.” As the DJ was tipped by an appreciative patron for never having exited the golden 90s I observed that the mass of people resembled an undulating cup of kefir on a Eurail train. It was then that “Ride That Train” was chosen by the DJ as the most appropriate tune to exhume. Remember people, I brave these wilderni for you.

At some point the undulating mass began to assemble like a video of toppling dominoes ifalling n reverse. Going from no structure or pattern to an organized line quivering and swaying in time with each other moreso than the music and seeming to defy gravity, this mass flowed.

And then the crowd split like an amoeba. Keith Sweat’s “Too close” was a poor choice, as half of the dancers were in elementary school and when the song came out in 1993. Music from “Off The Wall” brought some participants back, but the spin doctor had lost his core crowd already. They were soon to do a buttery nipple shot and call it a night. Bobby Brown solidified their choice.

I left and went to have a nice day cafe Indy. The people dancing weren’t so much dancing as they were swaying. This would have signaled a bad night but all of the “bikini girls” were backstage preparing for the contest. Yeah, this was a younger crowd.

I grabbed a bourbon & coke for a drink. All beer was 25 cents so that had Natty Light written all over it.

So I went back to that first place. Cause I had. Stamp ok my hand to prove I’d paid the $5. And cause i had no shame and didn’t want to to to bed. Now the dance floor was moving more. Like a thermal pool you might say. Hands were up and heads were bobbing and there was much rejoicing. The median age swelled to over 25 and I grabbed a beer. Drunk 30 year oldy are entertaining, and I don’t just mean me.

Postscript:
In between bars I ended up sitting on a bench. A guy was walking down the street talking to the people he met and handing them something. He looked at me on the bench and kept going. I went and asked him what the story was and he said he didn’t want to tell me. He said he thought I was in town for the po-lice convention. I assured him that I wasn’t and he still didn’t trust me. He asked if I was SURE I wasn’t a cop and why I had followed him. I told him it looked like he was giving out CDs. He said he was homeless and that he was throwing a benefit for him and his friends and could I donate. I told him no, that I wasn’t interested. He scoffed at me like I had offended him and that I should be ashamed of myself. I went back to the bar.

After I wrote the last line of my tale above, I ended up meeting a very pretty young medical student and we chatted for a bit. The conversation turned to baseball and I found out that she’s as big a fan as I am and can even score a game! But she’s a Cardinals fan. C’est la vie.