This is just one persona of a shifting cavalcade of characters that Tom Waits calls upon at will. But this is a favorite, drawing from the darkest off-key world of disappointed dreams and bittersweet make-do. Poetry lurks in the seamiest shadows, you can even find it crawling up and out of a two-bit bum that no one missed behind the backside of a dumpster, as his ghost lingers in that terrible place, unwilling to let go of the only side of earth he knew, black as it was, hopeless as destiny. Inspiring, that's what this entire album is. Black as jet, exhilirating as a midwest thunderstorm roaring in and lighting the dirt on the windows in chiarascuro glimpses of illumination at midnight. 'Nuff said.