Last night we joined some friends at a piano bar called Howl at the Moon.
Fun was had, drinks were sipped and caterwauling commenced. Howl is an interesting place to be on a Friday night. If you (or a friend) are lucky, you can win a happy hour party at the Howl. At this shin-dig you are treated to some munchies, 2 drinks from the bar and whatever songs the band wants to play (or is tipped sufficently to suffer through). When some people get a drink in them they join the less inhibided in singing. Some have lovely voices, some, not so much, but the band is plently loud so that you usually can’t tell the difference.
You are also treated to the clothes that Orlandians and their tourists deem appropriate for public consumption, and, gee, that definition varies from person to person. I saw a few girls who were bordering on topless last evening. To each her own, I guess.
I’m just not sure I want the drunken public to think I am asking for a free mamogram.