The neon sign in the window of the bar on Avenue A said OPEN in red letters and the red letters never turned off. The bar closed at four in the morning and opened at noon and the sign stayed on for the eight hours in between because the owner did not see the point of turning off a sign that was just going to be turned on again. The sign said OPEN when the bar was closed and the sign was not lying. The sign was optimistic. The sign believed in a future where the bar was always open and the sign was willing to wait for that future while sitting in the dark window of a closed bar on Avenue A.

The neon hummed. The hum was a sound that you did not hear until you stopped hearing everything else. The hum was underneath the sirens and the car alarms and the arguments and the boom boxes. The hum was the sound of gas inside glass being excited by electricity and the excitement was the light and the light was the color and the color was the sign and the sign was the hum. The whole system was circular. The electricity made the gas glow and the glow made the sign and the sign made the hum and the hum was the sound of the electricity and the circle never broke because the owner never turned off the sign.

The neon sign was the last warm light on the block at three in the morning. The streetlights were cold. The streetlights were white and municipal and the streetlights said you are outside and it is late and you should go home. The neon sign said you are not alone and there is a place that is open and the place has a stool with your name on it. The neon sign was an invitation that the streetlight was not. The streetlight illuminated. The neon sign welcomed. The difference between illumination and welcome was the difference between a streetlight and a bar and the difference was measured in the color of the light. White was the city. Red was the bar. The city kept you safe. The bar kept you company.

I played guitar under neon signs for fifty years. The neon turned my face red and the red made me look angry and I was not angry. I was playing guitar under a sign that said OPEN and the sign was describing me as accurately as it was describing the bar. I was open. I was always open. The corner was my bar and the guitar was my stool and the hat on the ground was my tab and the neon sign above me was not my sign but it was my light and the light said somebody is here and the somebody was me and the here was the corner and the corner was open.