Lost Lake

We were playing at a place called Lost Lake.  An old school lounge cum dive bar. Huge sweeping curved bar taking up half the room and filled with heavily tattooed thirty-somethings very serious about their drinking. We played in an adjoining room so small only one band at a time could have their gear in there.

Sample conversation from the smoking corral on sidewalk. Extremely intoxicated girl walks up to Joe and I:

“I don’t want to be a freak but I’m heavy into vibing and I’m vibing that you guys are designers. Are you designers?”

“No we’re musicians, we’re in the next band.”

“I was totally vibing that you were designers.”

“Well we design musical landscapes.”

She then spends five minutes trying to tell us about a PBS special she saw on some designer who’s name she can’t remember who grew up Colorado Spring, but moved to Chattanooga or something, it’s hard to follow the insane.

“Are you guys going to Chattanooga on your tour?”

“No”

Turns to boyfriend who is staring off into space.

“Hey baby, you’re from Chattanooga right.”

“I’m from Michigan.”

Me: “Well they’re pretty close.”

Dude: “Yeah they’re pretty close.”

Turns suddenly to some dude who had sidled up to the civilian side of the barricade and yells,” You got any Coke?”

“Well we gotta go set up now.”

Show was good, two mics and two speakers on poles. Small group of people knew all the words and were very sweet.

As we were pulling out to once again drive around until 4 in the morning trying to find a hotel we had to stop because a large group of super drunks were trying to get into two cabs jockeyed by two obviously long-suffering cab drivers. Drunk girl in white dress starts waving her hands and stumbling towards the van. She pulls open the door and says, “Can this van carry eight people?”

“We’re not a cab, we’re the band that just played in there.”

“”I love that about you guys.’

Slam

Don’t come to Denver to drink with a timid heart. They’ll eat you alive.