Located in the mid of a dell, the Blue Moon Bar is a hangout for the unusual and obscure. Crowds gather between the forgotten hours of the damp dry nights. Alternative music coruscates through the thick dim lighted air. The bartender invites everyone ordering a drink with an old whore lore. In the corner near the jukebox, a lonely soliloquy with a ten-dollar roll of quarters selects the songs trying to become lost in the music and not remember the day. The house harlot writhes between the stalks of men like a used book, a man can turn her frail pages, for her lips tell the story that she went past the whisper. Hitchhikers lay a map on the pool table retracing their travels wondering how and when. Looking into a shot of vodka a mother finds her identity. Directing those leaving, the man in scrap garments points to the exit sign. Above the exit sign, among the diverse ornaments in the bar, is a timepiece without hands. An indication that time exists in a place where there is no time.