【时间旅行者的妻子】99

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I want to be with people, I want to be distracted. I suddenly think of the Get Me High Lounge, a place where anything can happen, a haven¹ for eccentricity². Perfect. I walk over to Water Tower Place and catch the #66 Chicago Avenue bus, get off at Damen, and take the #50 bus north. The bus smells of vomit³, and I’m the only passenger. The driver is singing Silent Night in a smooth church tenor⁴, and I wish him a Merry Christmas as I step off the bus at Wabansia. As I walk past the Fix-It shop snow begins to fall, and I catch the big wet flakes⁵ on the tips of my fingers. I can hear music leaking out of the bar. The abandoned ghost train track looms⁶ over the street in the sodium⁷ vapor⁸ glare and as I open the door someone starts to blow a trumpet⁹ and hot jazz smacks¹⁰ me in the chest. I walk into it like a drowning man, which is what I have come here to be.

　There are about ten people in the place, counting Mia, the bartender. Three musicians, trumpet, standing¹¹ bass¹², and clarinet, occupy the tiny stage, and the customers are all sitting at the bar. The musicians are playing furiously, swinging at maximum volume like sonic dervishes and as I sit and listen I make out the melody line of White Christmas. Mia comes over and stares at me and I shout “Whiskey and water!” at the top of my voice and she bawls¹³ “House?” and I yell “Okay!” and she turns to mix it. There is an abrupt¹⁴ halt to the music. The phone rings, and Mia snatches it up and says, “Get Me Hiiiiiiiiigh!” She sets my drink in front of me and I lay a twenty on the bar. “No,” she says into the phone. “Well, daaaang. Well, fuck you, too.” She whomps the receiver back into its cradle like she’s dunking a basketball. Mia stands looking pissed off for a few moments, then lights a Pall¹⁵ Mall and blows a huge cloud of smoke at me. “Oh, sorry.” The musicians troop over to the bar and she serves them beers.

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