It was late. The web was winding down for the evening and one could sense the lack of activity even if one could not measure it. The boards were mostly closed. People were home an asleep in their beds or working the graveyard shift somewhere wishing they were home and in bed.

I sat down and brought up the Zone. It was late, few posters were about. Most were asleep in beds like the rest of the web-dwellers. I sat with a coffee and remembered the time at Cafe Brava, a jazz cellar I used to visit in occupied Europe. Times were good then. The intelligentsia were in bloom, as they always are after a war, and I was there to listen to their poetry readings and jazz music that was loud enough to notice but not loud enough to drown out conversation. This was important. Conversation is always important. The pretty waitresses in black turtlenecks and hotpants were easy on the eyes and some were budding poets and singers who worked tables just to be in the mix of the ambience.

Ambience is important. The tables at the Fiesta Brava always had table cloths that were clean. A tall candle lamp slowly melted in the center of the table and the overhead lights were just strong enough so that the place was well lit, but not too bright. Harsh light is undesirable. It must be soft but well lit and not murky. Lighting creates ambience. I remember one beat poet who read his poem to the assembled guests. Some were giving him their full attention and others were chatting quietly in their own world, often lovers lost in each the others eyes.

War, peace and renewal.
Dying, rebirth.
Enemies, Friends.
Existential world.
My soul cries out for meaning
amidst the darkness and light.
Minds Matter.
Minds Matter.
Minds Matter.

The beat stops and quiet applause emerges. Not long, not hard, just enough to show appreciation. The beat walks off the small raised dais and the Saxophonist breaks into a sweet solo that accents the night.

The Fiesta Brava, like most of the jazz cellars, is long gone. Now there are only bars and clubs. Which are entirely different. The latter are completely incompatible with intelligent folks. The web cellars are now all that remain and the Zone is a very quiet one. The poetry readings are now silent affairs and you have to provide your own jazz, but it provides a small outlet for those who remember the good days and the soft but well lit dens of mental equity.