Dad drove me around at night after dinner. It was the same course every evening; took Broadway into town past the  Kroger store, fire station, used car lots, banks, Long John Silver’s, McDonald’s, and a law firm with a sign that said Lowmer and Green.

He’d turn onto Main Street and head downtown, where there was a couple of whore houses with names like Kings Manner and The Doll House at one end of the street heading into town and the other leaving town. Cars were always parked in back. Neon signs fluttered, open 24 Hours on both. My dad would say the devil lived in there as we drove on. I suppose he was right.

We always wound up at the liquor store out by the highway. Old vagabonds asked for change. Women in dark glasses went inside quickly. My dad rolled up the windows and told me to stay right there. I’ll be out in a bit, he said. Just wait.

I sat there humming along with songs. Old jazz on the public radio station. Coltrane, Joe Henderson, McCoy Tyner, Bill Evans, they played all the greats from the past, making me wish I was born in another time. Maybe another place.

He’d walk out, holding onto a brown bag at the top. Placed it between us. It was always between us. And drove back home without a word. Just jazz playing. Under streetlights and stars.