by Brandon Ryan
It being the case that a good many of the bars I’ve been to in Philadelphia seemed to take a kind of perverse pleasure in playing their house music at decibel levels which could joggle teeth loose from their sockets, when the legs of my barstool began to quake & trill to a bass & beat I could not readily identify the source of, I was not concerned. No, what concerned me instead was that I was to be on assignment, covering the debut of a new comedy show I was unable to locate.
“Excuse me,” I hailed the bartender, “is there an open mic here tonight?”
“It’s actually right below us.” he replied.
