April 30, 2012—-
Club Deuce doesn’t really belong on South Beach. But then neither do I. Club Deuce does not have an ocean front view and I look like the back end of a Greyhound heading to Key Largo.
I was at Club Deuce a couple weeks ago after a Cubs-Marlins game and stared out the front window painted with a pair of dancing skeletons.
A tiny all-night outdoor sandwich shop was across the street from Club Deuce. It was next door to a late night tattoo parlor. The Club Deuce is not in the rarefied air of the beautiful people at the Clevelander or the European edge of the News Cafe.
My friend John Hughes lived in South Beach in the 1980s [...]
