A sad, mad heron in black leather comes out of the darkness, and walks up to the door, beating his head against the chrome.

"What? What?" A muffled voice comes up from under what sounds like a woman pressed between a lumpy mattress and a layer of Good Housekeeping magazines.

"Open up!!" The bird says. "I am not drunk enough."

"Honey, who is that? I thought you had stopped giving out your home number."

"You call this a home? This is the kind of place that gives trailer parks a bad name." For it was indeed such a park.

The bird beat its head against the trailer more persistently. After a few minutes, the door opened, revealing the Mudcat bartender and a Baroque stockpile of alcohol in various stages of disrepute.

"He's dead," said the bird, looking like the raven in the poem."

"Oh, crap," said the bartender, "What will you have?"

"The thing is," said the bird, "I think we need to get the hell out of here and hit the road, you know."

The Mudcat bartender looked down at the bird, who, though long legged, was still only a bird. "You know, G.B. (the heron's nickname, short for his real name, Go Braugh, which he never used for obvious reasons), it is 3 in the morning, and, er, there is a lady present --" There was a sound as of a muffler descending a staircase behind him to punctuate this remark -- "and I can't just pick up and go like some outlaw. I have responsibilities."

"Like what?" said G.B.

There was a pause. The bartender looked at the unfolding vista of mobile chateaux extending to the horizon, and paused some more. "Oh hell," he said at last, "Come in. Underneath that case of 24 you'll find the mother of all jacks. We have to unhook the tanks, and I have to mollify, if that is the word I am groping for, the lady in the back room, and the 8-track needs fixing. Let's say 20 minutes. First, let's have a drink." They hoisted. "Waylon." said the bartender. "Waylon," sobbed G.B., enjoying wallowing around in grief.

It was close to dawn when the Mudcat Tavern Trailer hit the Purgatory offramp and began driving like Hell. And it was 8 a.m. when they stopped to pick up their first passenger.