We went to a burlesque show and watched women strip to music; we went to hear jazz in a little Negro dance hall; we had several drinks in a bar which looked like a flophouse. Brogan knew everyone; the pianist with the tattooed wrists at the burlesque house, the Negro trumpet player in the dance hall, the bums, the coloured people, and the old whores in the bar. He invited them to our table, made them talk, and looked happily at me because he saw I was enjoying myself. When we were out in the street again, I said animatedly, 'Thank you for the best evening I've spent in America.'