Friday night at the chai lounge

and the bongo band packed up and hit the Ave leaving the barrista-fueled crazed audience on its own with the poets who grabbed the microphone (is anyone using this -- is this thing on -- can you hear me) from the bedtime storyteller who almost had the kids asleep before Father came home smoking and reeking of beer -- again -- causing the storyteller to skip ahead in the story to address the audience who was reading fiction and carving initials in treebark tabletops and now the poets distracted taking down each other's phone numbers and so it goes ...