Thompson is also here to network. He is launching a record label, he explains, so artists from South Florida won't have to turn to cities like New York and L.A. to try to get a deal. "The problem is there's too much competition between us all now. We need less madness. We need to be working in one another's corner. We have to stop hating one another and start helping," he explains.
It is unclear whether he's still talking about record deals or if his thoughts might have drifted back to the death of his friend.
The marquee above the Washington Avenue club recalls the tragedy
Sanz is definitely talking about the bouncer when he says, "There is no logic to it. He was breaking up the fight, and he wasn't even on the job." He pauses. "If he hadn't been there, at least two or three of us would have ended up in his same position."
When I leave a half-hour later, this time out the front doors, the usual milieu of staggering, glassy-eyed party people lingers on the other side. I pause to scan the sidewalk. There's no chalk line on the pavement; no jarring heap of flowers, keepsakes, or construction-paper collages barely a trace of the bloodshed that took place here.