The Uber driver ducked his car beneath the track of the El, which ran one block off Grant Park and right above South Wabash Avenue in downtown Chicago.  It was midnight when we stepped out into a light and cold November rain and tucked ourselves into the warm confines of Miller’s Pub.

She had never been, so I retraced my footsteps to a place I had been before.  I used to think places haunted us.  It was a silly thought.  They can’t.  We haunt them.

The long bar against the back wall was full.  Those who sat were interlaced with those that stood, all bound together in celebrating the accomplishments of the day, or the simple fact that the day was over, or simply because they knew not where else to go on a night that needed a little warmth.

“Can I find you a seat?” asked the hostess.

“Sure.”

“Two?”

“Yes.”

The next aisle back from the bar, which bowed around those it adjoined, hosted a series of booths.  “Will these work for you?”

“These will work fine.”

On one side of the aisle, closest to the bar, were a series of booths which sat two.  Across from them were ones that sat four.  She seated us in the latter.  Above our booth and those across the way rose a short partition decorated with stained glass in something of an argyle pattern that hemmed them in.

All the four person booths on our side were populated by couples, and each two person booths on the other side contained but a sole occupant.  On our side the couples drank.  On the other the individuals slowly ate the meals that had come from the late night kitchen, and sipped whatever the waitress brang them.  On our side was fast-paced chattering, loud laughter, or the quiet spoken words of concern.  On the other they took their time eating and seemed content.

“Oh my God, I love this place.  Have you been here before?” she asked.

“Once.  I wrote about it in an old blog post, ‘A Face in the Crowd.'”

“Was it a good one?”

“I don’t remember.  Parts might have been, and parts were probably shit.”

“It’s got such a warm feel about it.  It’s like it gives you a sense of…I don’t know…”

“Belonging?”

“Yeah.  Belonging,” she smiled.  Then she laughed.  “Look at this cocktail menu.”

“What do you think you’ll have?”

The excited eyes which scanned the menu came to a quick conclusion.  “I think I’ll try the P&P Daiquiri.  You?”

“The Blood and Sand.”

“Why?”

“It sounds both romantic and doomed at the same time.”

“Well, you’re certainly full of it tonight.  Should we get something to eat?”

The man across from us enjoyed his meal one bite at a time.  He had no phone he was looking at.  There were no televisions.  The meal and the noise around him was stimulation enough.

“I’m fine if you are.  I enjoyed the concert tonight and the trip here today.  I don’t know if anyone had ever done something like that for me on my birthday.  I do have a question though…”

“Shoot.”

“I didn’t think you cared for her when we heard her at Hinterland.  What made you get these tickets?”

She laughed.  “I knew you liked her, and we’ve talked for awhile about coming here.  It seems you enjoy this town.  It’s been twenty years since I’ve been here.”

“What did you think of the show?”

“I really liked it.  I think I understand why you like her.  She really is a good writer, isn’t she?  Between her and the act that headlined, there’s just no comparison.”

At Hinterland she had led right out with Highway Queen.  I thought it was a song about how she didn’t need anybody.  I just don’t buy that.  Everybody needs somebody, don’t they?”

“I think so, but people find that in all types of ways.  Sometimes just proximity will do, and sometimes, I guess, people find a having in the not having.”

“I realized tonight that so many of her songs are about trying to make a relationship work, that maybe I was hard on her.  Still, I’m not sure of what to make about Highway Queen.  What do you think it is about?”

“I don’t know.  Perhaps it’s about how we wind up taking too much credit for chosing the life we’ve been mostly left with by default.

I knew a gal in college, and she was in a BMG Music Club.  Remember that?  You bought once CD, and then you got ten more for a penny each.  They messed her order up, and she got a CD ‘The Very Best of Elvis Costello and the Attractions.’  She didn’t want it.  She didn’t want to send it back.  So I gave her a penny and I took it.

I fell in love with it.  He kind of had his own sound, like Nikki does.  On the album he had this song, ‘Alison.'”

“You played it for me once, remember?  It’s the song about the guy that is going to kill the woman he loves.”

I laughed.  “That’s right.  You picked up on it right off the bat.  I listened to that song a hundred times before I ever realized what he was singing about.  He sings, ‘My aim is true’ in a sort of sweet way, and I just thought he meant he had good intentions.

So you go on for awhile, thinking you’ve discovered the big secret behind the song.  Funny thing is twenty years pass, and you realize the song isn’t about that guy who is going to kill the woman he loves either.  It’s about how sometimes, if we aren’t careful, our pursuit of our best intentions kill what we love.

That’s good writing to me.  Hiding what it is about in plain sight, and rewarding us for sticking with it.”

“Well, you know what they say about the road to Hell…”

“That it’s a highway.”