A Blind Pig

Night has fallen. Restaurants are closing for the night. We walk towards the front door of an unassuming sandwich shop. A man at the door inspects a dimly lit list for our names. He stamps the missus’ hand then mine with a black illegible blob of ink and waves us along. There’s a young lady behind the counter offering bitesize desserts and glasses of bubbly. She was likely delivering a ham and swiss across the same counter a few hours earlier, now it is champagne and shortcakes. She directs us past the register and down a corner stairway. We proceed as instructed and as we turn into the basement, the room is full of life.
The bar is crowded and all but two tables in front of the stage are occupied. We sit and sip. The stage is lit. Piano, drums, guitar, bass, and mics all waiting to come to life. The music fades as the band takes stage and an explosion of fun ensues.
There is something exciting about a speakeasy. A time when people would pay to see a blind pig in exchange for a complimentary drink. Those days are mostly gone but the spirit remains. I’m happy to report that the blind pig has been replaced by great music and laughter. Cheers to the good times!