I feel an obligation to make a disparing comment or two about Help disco. With the holiday influx of Americans, Friday and Saturday night was packed...wall to wall people. Men looking for women, women looking for men, and even a few married or dating couples (surprised me too).
Sunday night I made the mistake of going in at 11:15. The place was almost empty of people. The air was rank, horrid, choking to breathe. I admit the far left bar has had a putrid smell for months and the small fans do nothing to slow the growth of mildew and mold. This time the entire place had the dank, fungal odors wasping from the beer soaked carpet, the fetid smell of spilled drinks mixed with the must of decomposing organic material challenged the senses. On top of this was the smell of minimal cleaning fluids, of polish and oil, and ever so faint a trace of cheap female perfume and male cologne. Added to the admixture of sicking odors was the occasional wisp of ammoniac, perspirant smells of the less than sanitary restrooms and the half hearted attempt to mask the stench with moth balls.
Alas, I stayed to finish my drink. The crowd began to arrive. I obtained a second drink (I had bought two chits upon arrival). The arriving crowd brought in new odors of freshly scrubbed ladies and gentlemen (I use the terms loosely) with their perfumes and colognes, the circulation of air as the air conditioners were hard pressed and working overtime, the renewal of the faux chase, all served to clear the fetid air if not clean the air. Perhaps my olfactory nerves were burning out, perhaps my desire for female companionship was overwhelming my intial revolt, perhaps the intoxication of seeing so many beautiful women clouded my thinking, perhaps the second drink was the key. Add to the crowd the heavy, repeating beat of the loud music, the sexual explicit gyrations of a multitude of Brazilian ladies, each shaking her shapely buttocks in a come hither manner, my head felt light as carnal dreams danced in my mind. Yes, this is Help for all its largeness, unabashed sexual overtones, promises of sexual pleasures (however brief), and the eternal fountain of youth for us old fart Americans our way inside.
Life is good!

Yeah. How eloquent. Sounds great, the Help I know and love. I can't wait.

--Another old fart going to drink from the fountain of youth.