Open Mic

In the wee, small hours of the night, when hipsters’ thoughts turn to mush. I mean, uh, thoughts of nightlife, some find their way to this corner pub, instrument cases in one hand, three changes of plaid flannel shirts in the other, ready to blooze it up.
From ten or so on Saturday night, until two or so come The Sabbath, these young musicians leave nothing but sweat on that stage, pouring it all out. Okay, some blood. But that’s all I’m prepared to describe. You’ll see. Can I get a witness? Sure, for twenty bucks they’ll tell the cops anything you want. Wait. That’s not what I meant.
If you are supremely fortunate, you’ll be there for an ironic version of a Nickelback tune. Or a countrified take on Blurred Lines. Or the «Tom Jones Medley,» during which panties come flying at the part of the floor that is considered the stage. (That most are tossed by dudes seems merely to amp up the irony.)
The Sleepy Village of Richfield is currently in contract with a rail line to install tracks, to establish that this place is, in fact, on the wrong side.
WARNING! These four hours are the ONLY time you should consider patronizing this cesspool.
The old man paid no mind to color
’Cause he knew that I’d been down and out
Old Joe said that I was a soul brother
From the things I’d been singin’ about
Well, he liked how I played my old guitar
So he sit down beside me to sing.
And together we hummed out an old timey blues
Hmm, do dee dang
From the same side of the railroad tracks
Where people have nothin’ to lose
I’m the son of a gambler who’s luck never came
A white man singin’ the blues
Well, we both done a heap of hard-​livin
And hard to describe in a song
But the blues was one thing we both understood
And the old man hummed right along
From the same side of the railroad tracks
Where people have nothin’ to lose
I’m the son of a gambler who’s luck never came
A white man singin’ the blues
From the same side of the railroad tracks
Where people have nothin’ to lose
I’m the son of a gambler who’s luck never came
I’m a white man singin’ the blues
Now the old man paid no mind to color
’Cause he knew that I’d been down and out
Old Joe said I was a soul brother
From the things I’d been singin’ about
– Merle Haggard