It was as if I had just jumped back a year in my life. Flashing lights, a DJ spinning and pumping bass, high heels and designer handbags coming at you from every direction. Techno remixes of Pink Floyd were interspersed with MIA and Lupe Fiasco. What is usually the favorite local hangout – $2 PBRs, pool tables, live bluegrass/rock most nights – had all of a sudden become a scene out of the collective past life. Except for the familiar grungy basement surroundings, our beloved mountain bar was nearly unrecognizable for its astonishing similarity to a metropolitan dance club. We could have been in New York or Philadelphia, Madrid or Montreal – for the music and the chaos but also the unusually equal male-female ratio. Something about two free drink tokens tends to draw the girls out of the woodwork, apparently.


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