There is jazzy jazz playing at Nervous Dog this afternoon--Louis Armstrong, now Chick Corea. The man sitting next to me has knocked his chair over twice. I’ve eaten half my ginger cookie. I think Holly Park is only a couple of blocks up the hill from here; I see familiar trees above the traffic and the neon Modelo sign across the street. Conversation is gentle around me, human jazz with its own not-quite-random tempo.