Last night was the last hurrah for a Haligonian landmark known as the Khyber Club. So excuse me if I wax unpoetically for a moment. I've frequented the Khyber since I was barely old enough to legally do so. I went from playing Pacman tournaments to screening a b&w subtitled Swedish film to an audience of two (including me). It's the only place I've ever experienced someone walking into the bathroom stall while I was, ummm, seated. How could I not go?

So last night we drink every last ounce of alcohol here then head down to help finish off what's left there. The bar should have closed every weekend. It's packed tight. Like most "happenings" in this city, it's too late to make a difference. I don't recognize anyone so can only assume this is the Barber Crowd I've heard about. Either that or they're just the crowd that gathers around car wrecks. The obvious joke being: "Same thing?"

Speaking of car wrecks, the bands aren't my thing. So I drown them out with the sound of my gulping. Which works fine for two bands, but by the third I'm in no state to stand so I mumble my goodbyes and make a bee line for my hot water bottle. Today my heart is broken and my head is pounding. It's Sunday and it's raining. Prior commitments are keeping me from my couch where I belong.