Now, tucked into a corner table next to the door that leads downstairs, amid the warm frivolity of the crowd, buried under the outrageous luminescence that is the Venice Café, I notice that there are as many women dancing as men who are not. To my immediate right, a woman tries to coax her date into dancing with her. He's not a dancer, apparently. Nor is his friend. Undiscouraged, she dances alone to the Zydeco antics of the Garbanzos, an all-male group wearing women's dresses and performing at the front of the bar, playing their version of the Who's "Squeeze Box." All of them are animated and lively except the drummer, whose sour expression looks comical beneath his floppy wig and captain's hat.
Eventually, voices shout: "Where's Uncle Bill?"
Who is Uncle Bill?
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