It’s a train car without wheels.

A gathering for

the subculture.  An information

center of new and yet to happen.

It’s a stopover between this

and that.  Art deco, vinyl and

stainless steel.  Formica countertops

and a bathroom without a lock.

A jukebox with failed neon’s struggles

in the corner.  Eggs and coffee all day.

Smudged doors and stained windows.

Unwashed faces.  Newspapers stacked

by the door.  Table whispers, tired

eyes, advice without guilt.  Alone finds

a stool or booth.  No reservations



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