The Prozac Mountain Boys played at Honey Moon last night, a little alley cabaret that reminded Michael of New York and me of Denver in the ’70s. Arielle Luckman, in town from Chicago, joined in the toe tapping tunes on her fiddle. I eased up to the bar with a glass of pull-your-own water, very Bellingham, and settled on a hardwood stool.
Bluegrass with a bit of Connie Francis and Bob Dylan on the side. Standing room only. A tastefully decorated Christmas tree hung upside down from the high ceiling.
Inebriated college students, old and new hippies, a retired border worker, a psycho therapist, a tarot reader, a geologist were among the few I watched and talked to as the evening bubbled along. AND a poet and publisher.
My focus for 2012 is to be back in print. A most auspicious outing.