A friend from New York beseeched me to crash a big fancy Cuban wedding at the Casa Marina Hotel last night. And I considered it, but as the time approached I chickened out. Later on, predictably, I was to be found on the dance floor of the Green Parrot, the greatest bar in the history of bars, where a powerful band of Latin brothers from Miami were entertaining.
Gradually I noticed that in amongst the crowd were men in white jackets and ladies in vintage this and that and looking very glamorous, and a bride, all rocking out alongside myself on the tiny sticky dance floor.
The bride begged to be allowed to bust out one song, to which the lead singer replied, a little snarkily, “The bride says she is a professional singer. Well so am I!” He made her wait but then finally acquiesced, calling her up to the stage, with, “Yo Bride!”
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