cinco de maio

I love those evenings where you have minor plans and expect to be home by 10pm then a phone call comes in and POOF, it's 4:38am and you're recounting one of the best nights ever: you find a nook where they're playing hot jazz like they did in the 1940s and discover that the keyboard player is from Windsor, then you mosey to a nearby bar and learn that the band is called "Fifty Amp Fusion" and the guitar player's name is "Remy," only to end the evening with "a single with everything and chili cheese fries" at Lafayette Coney (and a visit to their prison-locked bathroom). Nothing beats Detroit on a Friday night. Thanks, Joy.