Bunny gawped at the sign that dangled over the doorway, then at Gringo, then back at the sign. “No fecking way.” “Don’t be so close-minded.” Bunny pointed an accusatory finger at the sign that indicated the establishment was Charlie’s Private Members’ Club – Dublin’s Premier Jazz Emporium. “Fecking skiddle-dee-diddly-wah-wah daddy-o jazz? Have you lost what little mind you have left? You know I wouldn’t be caught dead in some wanky jazz club.”
