Point of No Retrun

We ride all night west
Through the flat lands, beneath the Sohio signs
Of your home state
You sleep in the passenger seat
Locked in a dream the does not include
The curve of the windshield
Or the broken line it pulls between us
We are somewhere without a station
Until the riff of 40's bebop
Breaks through the static of the radio
And fills the cramped room of this car
I think of the late show
At the west end café in New York
How the old men leaned into their horns
How the notes sounded like money owed
Notes that never said
All they wanted to say