It took a few days, but by Sunday we managed to break out of the seemingly infinite NY-Philly loop and escaped to Baltimore. Sue Trowbridge and her friend Neal cheerfully agreed to line up against the front wall of Memory Lane with me to be shot. Though it looked for all the world like a handguns 'n' Harleys kind of place, the club turned out be not so bad at all (only one handgun brandished the whole time between doors and drink-em-up), and the crowd was not only receptive but, for the most part, gratifyingly nonthreatening.
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