The Infamous Stringdusters were in town and we (Banjo Man, Dancing Mandolin Player and I) had tickets for the 10 PM show.
So we hurried from Trinity to a new place called The Hive. Its interior looked like a House of Blues–great stage, lighting, dark wood, rustic, two levels, etc.
Banjo Man thought I put his wrist band on too tight and said he had no circulation in his hand.
The Stringdusters, a wild–and I mean wild–bluegrass-rock band took the stage at 11 PM.
We usually are in bed at 9:30. So we were so proud of ourselves for staying awake. The band was great, the crowd was under-forty, and Banjo Man wanted to go home after the first set.
“I’m the oldest person in the whole place,” he whined. “And it’s midnight.”
DMP and I refused to leave. We knew we had already hurt ourselves by staying up so late. Another hour wasn’t going to make any difference.
I think we arrived back home around 1:30 AM. We were thrilled to have stayed out so late. No one could remember the last time we’d done anything like that together.
Maybe in the ’80’s.