Old people, respectables, everywhere. Dancing in the middle of the floor. A drunk raises his hands towards the heavens. A construction worker dances to the groove. The song ends, and they all sit down. Some remain standing as Maria Mauldaur announces the next song “Cajun Moon.”
What is it that all of these older generation did to wind up here? It’s strange, really, for as Maria puts it, to be talking about “the same old shit.” And here I am, thinking that my generation is the only generation complaining about the stuff that happens in the other Washington. Well, after tonight, I think I’ll let the 80-year old, balding man with the “Hemp Tonic” shirt to dance to his own tune.