In Vienna we visit an avocado-themed nightclub. A guacamole river runs sludgily through the dining area. People dip things in it. The chef has a black eye, and the busboys are naked. My mother is taken aback. She says she will sit at a table near the back, if I want to dance. I reply that I can’t dance because I have a bad case of the Syst-Must Moans.
