At some point, I forgot what the Upper Deck Tavern on King Street smelled like. Which is odd because it’s not the kind of smell you easily forget. So late Sunday night, I hopped on my bike to go check out the karaoke scene at the Upper Deck. As usual, the place was packed and beyond loud; karaoke brings out all the dark-alley beasts, you know. However, Sunday was a special treat, for I witnessed a case of true bromance. There was a group of guys having so much fun hanging out together, it was contagious. They put on one amazing karaoke performance after another. They were skanking like pros and picking the kind of ska songs that got the whole bar jumpin’ and kickin’ (Think, The Specials). Since these bro-mates were wrapping their arms around one another, jumping on the couches, and singing with such vigor that the veins were popping out of their necks, they needed something to keep the vocal cords loose and their bodies limber — and that thing was shots, one after and another. In between one of the songs, a guy leaned over to pick something up off the floor. It was $20. He handed it to me. I looked at it and shrugged my shoulders, glanced around, and then looked back at him and his girlfriend and said, “Ha! That’s not mine, but let’s go get our own shot of Van Gogh with it!” —Svetlana Minx