All:
As I mentioned previously, I stay with the best man and matron of honor at my wedding when I visit Las Vegas. They stood up for us twenty-six years ago and when the reception was over, they jumped in their packed truck and headed west from Toledo and have been here ever since. We don’t stay in constant contact, but these folks remain like family to us.
Whether my wife travels with me or not, we have developed a small tradition it seems. Dave is a part-time professional bass player and has an incredible voice. His casino days are apparently over since the kids came along, but he still gets gigs in some of the most divey bars I’ve ever been in my life, and believe me I’ve seen some real doozies. Every time I visit, Dave plays and sings in the band and I drink heavily and dance the slow ones with his wife, Pat. Unless my wife is there, I split my dancing time between them.
This is what I saw as we pulled into the driveway of the place last night:
It took us an hour and a half to get here from Henderson, NV, through some really desolate country. Death Valley is right down the road from this bar. Pat’s the designated driver, by the way. Way in the hell out in the middle of nowhere.
From left, Dave and his steel guitar player. This is an excellent example of the clientele…
As is this picture. She was kind enough to censor the shirt at my request so it would hopefully make it past the Mods here. Note the “I’m hungry.” in small print below.
You can confirm you are in a certified Dive bar when you visit the john. This one passes with flying colors.
In case you had any doubts about it, this sign confirms your Dive status on the way out of the john.
Charlie the redhead with the fingernails to give Christiana Biggs a run for her money is the proprietor of this fine establishment, shown here with her live-in old man and bartender. Bikers and loudmouths tremble in her presence, trust me. I got a dance with her, slow one too. I was on my best behavior.
Yours truly dancing with Pat. I’ve got a short video of Dave playing and singing, but I haven’t figured out how to post it yet.
Getting a little drunk with the guy who helped your first wife move out of your house over thirty years ago and dancing with his wife while he sings country ballads. It makes my eyes well up just thinking about how lucky I am. If life gets any better than this, it ain’t happened to me yet.
If you have friends half as good as this, you are truly blessed.
Kowboy