So, I’m on the corner outside of Churchill’s last night when wooosh — suddenly my beer’s ten degrees warmer. Yes, randomly encountering a fire breather practicing firing breathing in the alley outside of a crowded bar is a quintessential “Only in Miami” moment, but more accurately it is a “Brought to you by Churchill’s” moment. Seriously, at/in/near what other venue in the city would the sight of someone gargling lamp oil and blowing a kevlar wick into a Bowser fireball not seem utterly random? This is the same place rented out, I’ve heard, for occasional daytime porno filmings. The same place that boasts an enormous portrait of Winston Churchill’s frowning, flushed punim in the middle of Little Haiti. Point being, I wasn’t that surprised. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time in the bar’s 31 grimy years that a band decided Churchill’s was the perfect place to finally incorporate fire poi into its act. I didn’t see the show (I was next door for Can’t Stop’s CD release party at Sweat), so I can only hope the place isn’t a smoldering pile of ash right now. Though burning down in a spectacular conflagration would be the only fitting way for an illustrious temple of punk and puke to go.