It occurs to me, as I’m waiting for a late-night pizza, that I’ve not seen karaoke in a LONG time.

A cute, young, black man croons to some non-descript r&B/rap  song. He’s off-tune, but not as much as his smiley, spikey-haired counterpart. His dimples sell the song, so no matter, along with his tight-fitting designer jeans, which gyrate and thrust to the music …

Next up, a curly-haired duo, probably sisters.

“Everybody go sandbagging today?” the one on the left yells. There’s a loud “woo!” in response before they break into a monotone verson of “Just What I Needed.”

A middle-aged balding man in outdated round, gold, wire-rimmed glasses offers a flat rendition of  “Leroy Brown” that’s just, well,  karaoke. And it’s not good, dawg.

College girls text in the corner, nodding their heads in tune with the music, definitely a new addition to the bar scene since I”ve been a part of it.

Something that isn’t? Some desperate dude asking my name and whether I’m there alone. Guess I still got it.

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