Lucius laid down his glass of wormwood nectar. "Man, that's nuthin'," he said. His teeth were like cinder-blocks, very uniform and with all the grace of an old U-Haul building. The pores on his nose were huge and deep, like so many abandoned water wells. "You want me to tell you a thing like that shouldn't happen in this town? See I know. I saw you comin'. Shit, this town's gon' be as mean as you want to let it be. They's cats here gib me the crawlies - like findin' some old boy's head in yo' bed at night - no ketchup color on that picture, no Godfather hawse head, shit. But still, they's a spirit here save yo' soul. Save mine."

Lucius had seen better days, I knew. His eyes were clotted and rheumy, with real orange marmalade. They say absinthe is a harsh mistress, and he would make a good prohibition poster-child were it still a problem anywhere in the world.

He reached down into his lap and fumbled for something: I figured it was a cigar, but really I tried not to notice. Then, for the first time all night, I saw the glint of a tenor sax; the brass snake sat on the floor, its neck at rest against my companion's thigh, which was covered in a fine corduroy, of a rust complexion.

"Shit, most folks think of Amsterdam, and they see the steeple atop th' Temple of Gomorrah. But, they don't know. All I know is, a man can think straight over here. A man don't have to be scared all the time, 'bout gettin' his brains bashed in by some fool inbred thinks he's special 'cos he's Billy Joe's kissin' cousin, or some shit. I see what this place did for a lot o' sufferin' brothas. Saw Bud Powell go into a full bloom one May, right here, right in this club . . . If it wasn't this one, it was the one next door. And I don't have to tell some people what it's like to be 'round genius. Everything just kind'a gives," he said, pushing out deliberately with his fingertips. "Everything becomes possible. It's like before everything was walled off - but you don't even know they's any walls there - and then, once the genius hits, there's no more opposition. Everything's clear, and orderly. Shit," he glimmered. "It's beautiful."