The winter sun, golden and tired, br settles on the irregular army br of bottles. Outside the trucks br jostle toward the open road, br outside it's Saturday afternoon, br and young women in black pass by br arm in arm. This bar br is the house of silence, and we drink br to silence without raising our voices br in the old way. We drink to doors br that don't open, to the four walls br that dose their eyes, hands that run, br fingers that count change, toes br that add up to ten. Suspended br as we are between our business br and our rest, we feel the sudden peace br of wine and the agony of stale bread. br Columbus sailed from here 30 years ago br and never wrote home. On Saturdays br like this the phone still rings for him.