The jazz trio is too good for this dive we have all found ourselves in tonight. Outside, sand and tumbleweed blow, the weight of the world itinerant. Inside, a drunk woman cries in a booth in the corner and everyone ignores her. I could cry, too, but there's cheap margaritas, the theme from St. Elsewhere and "Take Five," and a guy at the bar who looks like he's never been to prison and might want to dance. Outside, cars speed back to California, money won or lost on the minds of the drivers. Inside, it's time for another drink, it's time to crush my body against no-prison's for "Linus and Lucy," it's time to celebrate the walls that keep the wind storm and the people heading elsewhere out of my vision. It's just time.