It was after my seventh whiskey that I noticed the strange group sitting together in a booth by the window of the tavern, eating onion rings and passing a bottle of cheap wine in a paper bag. The guy who was doing most of the talking,paused, looked over at me and said "you find the secret yet?" I walked over to the table. A tall thin guy was chain-smoking Lucky Strikes, and had the pack rolled up in his t-shirt sleeve." Mind if I bum a smoke," I said to him. "No," he said "of course not, comrade, have a cigarette and join with us in our comraderie, you are a man who likes spirits , am I correct in that assumption? For you are certainly among kindred spirits.. ghosts of our former selves as it were, free spirits, our favorite haunt.." The dark-haired guy is in a fit of laughter and stammers "..whoah...Whoah Neal! Just..just give the man a smoke."

It was about this time I looked at my watch and realized I was supposed to meet Phil LeTourneau two hours ago." Ah, hell..." I said. " Too late" smiles the dark haired guy." But don't worry, we'll give you a ride. You okay to drive, Cowboy?" The guy named Neal jumps up, flips his keys into the air, catches them behind his back, and heads out the door."C'mon, amigo." By the time we got out the door, Neal had the Merc parked in front of the Tavern, one wheel up on the sidewalk. "Wait a goddam minute," I said," who the hell are you, anyway?"

The guy with the oily black hair laughed, then washed down a little white pill with the cheap wine."Kerouac, man." I climbed in the back, and he turned to face me." Jack Kerouac."