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flo  

Two years ago, on a Friday night in one of North Beach's favorite haunts, I first laid eyes on Flo Allen: a gorgeous black woman, hair piled high, wearing a red dress and pearls. She was holding court for a circle of admirers, she had a voice like the honey of killer bees, and she was magnificent. I was struck by the resemblance to Billie Holiday -- the beauty and intensity were there; only the gardenia was missing. We were not introduced. I could only gaze in admiration and wonder to myself "Migawd, who is this lady?" Since that night I have discovered who the lady is. 

  
  Let me tell you, you'd better have your act together if you're gonna make time with this woman: she doesn't converse, she emotes, she dominates, she exudes all kinds of things. Disdain? You've never experienced it until you've seen it written on Flo's face. Warmth? It's her very own color, her personal art. Style? One could define the word by pointing her out. To see Flo, as I have, standing in the sunlight on Union Street, wearing an angora beret the color of raspberries - and lipstick to match - is to die, honey.... 

chanty