There’s a young-looking guy following the fine tradition of singing alone
with his acoustic guitar, and he stops halfway through the set to solicit
suggestions for a Smiths cover. Later, after he’s all done, he wanders over
and apologizes to me for forgetting some of the words. “It’s ok,” I tell him.
“The words don’t matter. It’s about capturing the feel. You did just fine.”
People wander back and forth. from the front bar to the tiny “beer garden”.
My friend does his DJ set while I watch the small crowd of fanboys and girls.