Some kind of salsa-type music is playing on the radio. The middle section of this place, a large area in front of the bar, could almost be considered a dance floor -- it's strangely devoid of furniture. A few tables sit in front of the open space, next to the windows. I'm on the right side, facing out towards the street. A man at a table on the opposite end is explaining something to someone via his cell phone.

It's a PMU horse race bar, and apparently it's off season. My table is square with a blurry granite design for the top and a blue plastic ashtray containing a lone cigarette stub smoked all the way to the filter. On my espresso saucer is a maroon tube of powdered sugar.

The radio is set to the "Nostalgie" station, and after a commercial interlude, Santana's mellow guitar licks reverberate through the place.