A pungent mix of smells filled the air of the bar room. Someone with a real good nose (which I possessed) could dissect the aroma into its component parts of Mickey's special recipe for Texas chili, a cheap cigar smoldering in an ashtray at a corner table, the sweat of workingmen that had come straight from the job to down a few cold ones before headin' on home...and the sweet scent of Gina, the barmaid who now served me up a shot of Cuervo Gold with a chunk of lemon, and a bottle of Corona with which to wash it down.

If ever there was a woman that could make me forget Darla, it was Gina. In some ways she, too, reminded me of my old flame -- the same long black hair, high cheekbones, sweet lips, and big brown eyes.

My secret pipe dream was to come into this good-for-nothin' town one day on my big white horse and save her and myself from this humdrum, bill payin', nothin' ever changes, grass is always greener somewhere else kind of life -- riding off into the sunset to the land of milk and honey.

I never bothered Gina with these foolish thoughts of mine, kinda figurin' that every Tom, Dick and Bubba that walked into this place had hit her up with a similar line. But I always thought that she and I had some sort of special connection -- an unspoken kind of love and admiration for each other that had kept me coming back to this god-awful place and kept her from letting another man put a ring on her hand.

It was about time for me to get back on stage and sing some tunes. I'd worked it out so that I'd be taking my next break just when Monique would be arriving. I was tempted to ask Gina if she knew anything about this man from the north that seemed intent on meeting up with me, but without a name or even a description of what he looked like, I didn't want to give her any cause to worry.

I gulped down the tequila shot, chased it with a swig of beer, grabbed my guitar and headed for the stage. There wasn't much of a crowd present for my first set -- just a well-dressed couple whose car had broken down on the highway and were killin' some time while it was being fixed, and Horace the drunk who was always there -- just like a piece of furniture.

The room was just beginning to fill up, so I figured I could get away with a few repeat songs from the first set and some cover tunes -- saving all of my best stuff for after midnight when the place would be full.

There was still a great joy I felt when making music -- whether it was just playin' for myself or a crowd. I could most always slip myself into a different state of mind -- where only sound, thoughts and emotions existed.

I proceeded to close my eyes and make that escape for the next hour, just aware enough of my surroundings to thank the audience between songs and to know that this departure from reality was just a temporary one -- I'd have to come back to earth and pick up my paycheck at the end of the night.