Ulysses in a midwestern bar room recounts distant peoples, sunsets and trials. Here, where old men stare at game show glimmers of dollar amounts and beautiful contestants, Ulysses has become a voice in the corner rousing a rabble drowned by a jukebox blaring classic rock. Outside, cement trucks scatter sand over the icy streets briefly interrupting conversation...

...when conversation resumes to a cattle truck spilled on a dead stretch of railroad (the beasts presumedly licking the ditch weeds and dandelion skeletons). Outside, between the weekly and monthly rooms for rent, passers by are just shivering scarecrows. A window soft with the neon glow, a shimmering row of domestic beer signs, reflects a giant figure in the corner with a face enraged in tales of bravery.