Of course, the hockey players didn't show. Undaunted, I danced around in front of the stage, $3 Red Stripes in hand, to Spellbinder's traditional reggae and Tito's Latin/North African/Jamaican jam.
Kokopelli's is one of those rare refuges where a girl can shake it without having to Taser every fourth guy in the room. I swayed my hips like an upside-down bobblehead for what felt like hours; I thought seriously about letting my hair dread up and swore I'd book plane tickets to Jamaica the next day. It was time to emancipate my inner Rasta. As expected, though, sobriety got the better of me in the morning. I brushed my tangled hair (regretting that it never got tousled by a hockey player) and thought twice about taking a tropical vacation. After all, there's no need when the best reggae is right here. Call 303-292-6622 or visit www.kokopellis.net.