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There was this one gig we did squeezed below deck on a catamaran for the Dallas Yacht Club. These sweet people insisted that the band was fed and watered real good. And by "watered," I mean "whiskeyed." This, along with the rocking of the waves, made for an interesting hoedown. But folks danced and drank, and danced, and drank.

When the show was over and we got back to port, we discovered the party was just getting started. In fact there was a floating fiesta in every slot of the marina, it seemed. So we bounced from boat to boat dragging our instruments, buskering as we went. One advantage of being a string band, I suppose.

In the wee hours of the morning, when the smoke cleared, we found ourselves sitting on the dock with an empty bottle of Crown and, for some reason, my jacket pockets crammed full of cookies. No idea how they got there. But we ate those and wondered about our choices in life.


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