Things started slowly at the hiphop weekly Nasty’s. DJ Seancee and another skillful young jock (Soul One) were spinning certified classics, all right, but attendance barely crept into double figures. Still, when is it ever not fantastic to hear out in public tracks by NWA, Ultramagnetic MCs, Eric B & Rakim, Del, Wu-Tang Clan, Brand Nubian, De La Soul, Public Enemy, Gang Starr, Main Source, KRS-One/Boogie Down Productions, Gravediggaz? Answer: Never, even if you’re the only one in the house.

Around 10:45, more people filtered in, including some of the best damned breakdancers in the area (a Massive Monkee or two did some sparkling floor work, as well as some supremely athletic cats I’d never seen before). B-boys and a B-girl did their whirlwind things to one killer jam after another. Seriously, not a dud cut was dropped.

All was going smoothly until this white woman wearing a short skirt and a sleeveless top started dancing and flirting with every B-boy in the place. She was about five feet tall and her bra straps had fallen down to the middle of her biceps. She seemed drunk, but her dancing wasn’t bad, actually. The problem was, it was more Fillmore West ca. 1969 than the Bronx ca. 1979 or Seattle ca. 2009, and she repeatedly pranced into prime dance-floor real estate while the B-boys were trying to bust their moves.

I was waiting for one of the dudes’ twirling legs to knock her unconscious, as she kept moving within inches of harm’s way, but miraculously Adidas never made contact with face. Her advances to the breakers were either half-heartedly humored or shrugged off in a blasé manner. But she was persistent. This went on for almost two hours (interspersed with numerous runs to the bar for nourishment), until she finally got a clue and exited.

Watching the woman flirt with the B-boys (and disaster), bartender Jesse said, “There’s a weird energy in here.”

Truth. I’ll be coming back, for sure.

These tracks—among many others—slayed.