Always trendy Vancouver. These little gigs, always unstable, always friendly. A hockey game was on, and they mostly watched it, mostly with their backs to me. The woman at the front table has white wine and a salad. Would I join her for a glass between sets? She tells me of her successes in the music industry, and asks me why I'm playing a place like this. "You need a girlfriend like me," she says. "Really." Her body is lithe under a west coast sweater, her face still pretty- but hard. She shifts in her chair to better present her assets to me. During the next set she rushes from the room, never to return. It's hockey night. There are other bars, other men, perhaps other hopes under other neon. These dreams shiver in the not quite right night, shaking down this town, looking for a silver lining. My dreams are like that, too, as I stuff a few dollars in my pocket and make my solitary escape.
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