I'm trying really hard to wire a couple of brain cells together, but instead of an entry-producing spark all I get is a wisp of greasy smoke. Bleh.

In the meantime, a band that could be The Divorce or Blue Sky Mile or Mindhead is pouring through the window, competing energetically with the sound of traffic and noisy Thursday night drunks, who are qualitatively different from Friday and Saturday drunks (Thursdays are more evenly pitched, with less desperate hilarity). I only know the names of the bands because I googled the Croc's schedule, out of curiosity. Whoever they are , they sound moody as all git out. I know, shocking.