So I left Benicia, where John Barleycorn had nearly got me, and ranged wider afield in pursuit of the whisper from the back of life to come and find.

And wherever I ranged, the way lay along alcohol-drenched roads.
Men still congregated in saloons.

They were the poor-man's clubs, and they were the only clubs to which I had access.

I could get acquainted in saloons.

I could go into a saloon and talk with any man.