Someone put a dime in the jukebox and a blues singer lamented all the empty nights and wasted years. A bearded neurotic got up on a table and attempted to recite poetry that contradicted the singer's lyrics, and from the bar some unpoetic creature pegged a half-eaten, hot-pork sandwich that hit the poet in the mouth.
“But I'm a vegetarian,” the poet declared in a tone that was neither male nor female. To shut him up, someone handed him a fifteen-cent Tokay. He got down from the table and sat on the floor, murmuring phrases of endearment to the yellow wine in the glass.