I punch in the code for the alarm and step out of the office. The door shuts and I give it a little push to make sure it has clicked shut.
It’s been a long day. I walk out to the car park where my car sits alone. The sun is behind the trees.
I light a cigarette. Place my butt on the car. I am transported to San Jose. It’s a good night for the Blues.
Stevens Creek Boulevard, JJ’s. It’s a dive bar. Officially too. I know – I saw it listed on the Facebook page for the world’s best dive bars.
Outside are the smokers. Some with cigarettes. The bar’s official poet is putting on an impromptu spoken-word performance.
I start reading the posters taped to the door. A recording artist will be performing on Saturday; $10 cover charge. Today’s Tuesday. Jam night.
The door opens. Someone comes out to join the smokers. On one side, there’s a bar lining the wall. Below the pictures of the Blues greats that have played here, are the wallflowers sitting on stools, tapping a foot to the beat of the music. In between them, islands of beers going flat while their owners move around on the small dance floor.
A few tables and then there’s the bar with a few regulars executing their multi-year plan to seduce the bar maid. Only a few taps. The selection is limited. You go to JJ’s for the music. For the Blues.
I put out my cigarette, open the door. My voyage to California is over. I start the car and go home.