"But I ramble," Jim said, snapping out of his daydreaming. "I'm sure you have better things to do than listen to an old man talk about a place you've never seen." He slowly started up another tune, an old earth piece. He began singing softly to the song as he played. "It's nine o'clock, on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in, there's an old man sitting next to me, making love to his tonic and gin . . ."