The rain beat down, promising a big day tomorrow at nearby Mount Washington. We stopped at the 120-year-old house turned pub for “just a quick beer.” Ducking the cover for a local band named Six Gun Buddha (“We’re not staying,” we told the bouncer), we ordered a round and downed our pints as the band warmed up on guitars and saxophones. They sounded promising. We ordered another round. The crowd grew. Another round. The music started, the dance floor shook. Later, much later, we stumbled outside, deaf from eclectic funk-rock and ready for tomorrow’s face shots.
