The bar had undergone a subtle rearrangement during the intervening years, but otherwise it was outwardly the same as before. The lighting was low, brightest at the bar with little oil lamps lighting the sandy garden out the back. Various cloths had been draped over poles in places like a nomad’s tent to provide some cover, but otherwise the sky and near-full moon was the ceiling. The crowd turned over consistently, neither fast nor slow and was a beguiling range of people. The night opened with some children on the dancefloor, later replaced by a midget, while a table of retired pensioner couples sat next to me. By the end of the night there was still plenty of older people milling around which didn’t make me feel like some tipsy deviant perched on the edge of the dance floor, but there was still plenty of young people from the village well dressed for a foray on the beach.
Being alone, I sat back in the garden for most of the show, content to watch and write a letter to my friend. I later joined the dwarf and others on the dancefloor as the moon grew higher and the waves further away. A true mid summer nights eave.