The Flaming Colossus was what it used to be called. It had two rooms. In the ball room they'd have a big dance band, like reggae,something fun. In the smaller side room there'd be a blues or jazz band. It was totally cool then, but now I saw it as a smoky basement where no one ever had a real conversation.

Prudence had convinced me to come with her but now she had disappeared into the crowd.

The bar was three deep and the chick bartender was practically topless in a leather bra, her cleavagetattooed with roses all over. Wow! I really am old. When I finally got up to the bar I ordered a beer.

"What kind?" she said with her floral chest hanging over the wet black bar. I was worried the she might lean her nipples into the spillage. I took a napkin and wiped the counter but she merely looked at me strangely. "What kind?!"

"What do you got?" She pointed at a blackboard with a bunch of chicken scratch.

"You got Bud?"

She didn't answer,but walked away and grabbed a Bud out of the cooler and slammed it on the peeling laminated counter. "Five dollars."

"Five dollars?"

"All beers are five dollars."

"If I had known that, I would have gotten something better."

"You want something else?" She yelled over the noise.

"No." I handed her a ten. I waited for change, but she went on toother customers. Finally, I gave up trying to get her attention and wentoff to find my dear Prudence.

I found her on the floor dancing, about ten people surrounding her. Who she was dancing with, I had no idea. She smiled when she saw me, took the beer from my hands-- and sucked it down.

"I've got to get out of here."

"What?" She yelled.

I yelled back, "I've got to get out of here. Now."

"All right, I'm going to stay. I'll get a ride."

"From who?" The thought of this made me feel like her father.

"I don't know, somebody."

"I'll wait for you out front. I can't let you do that."

She looked at me endearingly and nodded, "All right, two more dances."

*****

Little did I know that each song was over half an hour long. 60 minutes later, she arrived outside. We walked to the car, awkward silence between us. And as I drove us home, she stared blankly out the window until finally she asked, "What's up?"

"Nothing, I'm just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"About how old I am."

"You're not that old."

She was trying to make me feel better,but we both could feel how strained it was. "Thanks," I said, smiling the best smile I could muster.

*****

Later at home,we lay in bed watching television. Prudence stared forward, captivated by the late night infomercials. I nuzzled closer to her but she continued staring at the blue light-half there. Annoyed, I got up, went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator - hoping for something to have magically appeared since dinner. I resigned myself to some leftover pizza.

As I leaned up against the kitchen counter, eating the cold pepperoni and mushrooms, I glanced through the stack of mail. Bills, bills, and more bills-until finally a handwritten address on a small white envelope.

I opened it.

DEAR MIKE,

PLEASE COME TO MY DINNER PARTY AT MOCHA DAZE, SATURDAY, JUNE 20, AT EIGHT.

STEVE

Steve? The son-of-a-bitch was inviting me to a dinner party? Perhaps he was changing. I hadn't seen the old gang in a long time. Hey, I thought, at least you won't feel so old.