THE PEPPERMILL LOUNGE

I used to go to The Peppermill with my buddy Dominick. He was a Sicilian born madman. We would go to see his favorite band "Little Green Men".
 Anyway, one night there was this girl there that wanted to dance….no, she wasn’t a girl, she was a woman. I was 40 years old, and she must have been 60 and that would make her 80 now, but she was wearing something tight, and 80 is the new 60, and that’s what I am now, so all things being equal the numbers work out OK.
But its not like I had a choice here. She wanted to dance with ME. And NO is not a word we use around here. It started out OK, but then she wanted to dance SLOW with me to FAST songs, and she kept nibbling my ear, and she smelled really good and I asked her what she was wearing. She said it was “Oil of the Satyr”, and that was a little freaky, and she said something else that is more or less unprintable, and about that time Dominick said it was time to go.
I didn’t want to go.
But Dominick was my ride and it took 30 minutes for him to take me home, and another 30 minutes for me to get in my car and go back up there, but it was 2:15 and snowing and there was no one left there except a couple mullets in the parking lot.

I’ve kept one eye out for her for 20 years now. I’d know her if I saw her in a minute.
JD Salinger wrote “"Probably for every man there is at least one city that sooner or later turns into a girl. How well or how badly the man actually knew the girl doesn’t necessarily affect the transformation. She was there, and she was the whole city, and that’s that."”

And I guess The Peppermill Lounge, for me, is a nameless 80 year old woman wearing Oil of the Satyr.