Swirling dust rose from a wide

parking lot as cars found space. Weary

visitors and neighbors headed for the

front door of The Guitar Road House.

Music greeted them along with flies buzzing

and fumes from beer and roasted chicken.

The language of hard branded music covered

the floor and walls as fingers tapped and

shoes slapped to the nature of the beat.

The air was invaded by sound. There was

a sudden zone of dancing. People drowned

out their day while stepping into evening.

Every night was Friday night.



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