Clotho

One last block to go and I was singing quietly to myself the song Michael Pickett wrote about this place.

"Remember bein' down on Cecil and Spadina, in the drivin' rain I remember bein' down on Cecil and Spadina, Lord, in the drivin' rain So drunked up and loaded

Was not feelin' no pain"

And there's the bar, almost a juke joint. There are murals on the outer wall of Billie Holiday, Sonny Boy Williamson and others. There are two steps to take, a door to open; somehow on these nights I always feel that moment of passage. Everything beyond that gate has it's own rules.

During the day or on the nights I'm with friends it's just another door to another bar, but on the nights I'm wandering by myself, its a barrier between mundane reality and someplace else - a new world where all strangers are friends, where caste and social class mean nothing, where a college freshman can share the stage with a Jeff Healey, a Pat Rush or a Mike McKenna. It's a world where although nobody knows me, I'm surrounded by friends. And despite its dirt, clutter, chaos and overwhelming loudness, and despite the amount of alcohol I usually imbibe there, it's the place where my thoughts have this pristine clarity, the place where I'm at my most creative, my most confident.

But only at night, and only if I go alone.

I walked in, savoring that ever-so-rare sensation.

Steve's passing out beers. "Hi Trevor," he said, just like every other time, on every other night. "Will it be a pint of Guinness or a Keith's and a shot of Jack?"

I have no idea how he remembers my name, but it seems like he's always known it. I probably told him one night, but he's never forgotten it, making me feel obligated to learn his. That's a big deal for a guy who forgets names two seconds after they are offered. Steve's a bit of a strange guy, but as Neil Young sang, if you've never heard him play, I guess you left too soon. I like Steve. He suits this place.

"Cheers, Steve. Guinness, please." I looked at the stage. "Who's playing?"

"A college band, with a young lady singing. They are kinda like Big Brother and The Holding Company."

"Cool!" I love love love Joplin. "What are they called?"

Steve hands me the Guinness and a clean glass. "Clotho," he says.

I grinned then like I'm grinning now.

Perfect.