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...I don't know for sure who was playing but somebody tells me it's Buddy Guy's little brother. I don't much care. Beer is a buck. It's packed with enthusiastic patrons, and I'm hearing some electric blues when my wife leans over and cups my ear and says "why he f*** did you wanna bring me to a shithole like this for?". The esthetics of the moment escaped her, obviously, so I packed her off in a cab to the Ambassador East for a nitecap at the Pump Room. I went, too. But I was tempted not to.