Denver — Flyers led me to a dive on East Colfax. A stretch of central Denver where the cleanest storefront belongs to the Champagne Tiger, host of the city’s “Most Luxurious Drag Brunch.” Six local brews on tap. Their labels: hieroglyphic, alien-looking. Martian roulette. Pull a lever at random, Scotty, see if we get beamed up. At first sip I hear a familiar, sing-along-able chorus.
“Astro Zombies.” It’s played live by a Misfits cover band as a guy tries to slam-dance while wearing a banana costume. An LED sign implores, please don’t do coke in the bathroom. I don’t think this crowd is the sign-reading type. A golden retriever, stuffed in a T-shirt with the logo of a local skate punk band, leans against my leg, openly asserting a natural right to human affection. Everyone’s coming out these days. Punk is fun and fast and hooky. Devil-may-care. Until a skinhead joins the party: his dome inked in the front (skins) and the back (a solar cross), tagged like a bus stop billboard. Do white bootlaces mean anything? They mean it’s time to get off Colfax. Besides, a fellow says there’s another, must-see gig. “Blackened doom metal,” he explains, twiddling the bicycle chain around his neck: “eyvant-gart stuff.” Seems to know what he’s talking about. Close my tab.
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