Having the low down blues and going into a restaurant to eat. You sit at a table. The waitress smiles at you. She's dumpy. Her ass is too big. She radiates kindness and sympathy. Live with her 3 months and a man would know real agony. O.k., you'll tip her 15 percent. You order a turkey sandwich and a beer. The man at the table across from you has watery blue eyes and a head like an elephant. At a table further down are 3 men with very tiny heads and long necks like ostriches. They talk loudly of land development. Why, you think, did I ever come in here when I have the low-down blues? Then the the waitress comes back with the sandwich and she asks you if there will be anything else? So you tell her, no no, this will be fine. Then somebody behind you laughs. It's a cork laugh filled with sand and broken glass. You begin eating the sandwich. It's something. It's a minor, difficult, sensible action like composing a popular song to make a 14-year old weep. You order another beer. Jesus, look at that guy his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's whistling. Well, time to get out. Pick up the bill. Tip. Go to the register. Pay. Pick up a toothpick. Go out the door. Your car is still there. And there are 3 men with heads and necks like ostriches all getting into one car. They each have a toothpick and now, they are talking about women. They drive away first they drive away fast. They're best I guess. It's an unbearably hot day. There's a first-stage smog alert. All the birds and plants are dead or dying. You start the engine.