From the artist's notes:
Spades ain't the instrospective type, at least that's what he tells everyone who has, for some reason, the inclination to ask. The past was shit, and the present, lost amongst capers and murders and jazz clubs and everything else, don't leave much time to sit around and think about bull-fuck that doesn't matter anyway. He made this goddamn town, the fuck is there to think about anyway?
Though he may admit to himself that sometimes in the middle of the night when the rest of the crew are off or asleep and their capers and "everything else" are done, he might sit around with nothing to do but plunk at a piano that he still has for some reason. And maybe sometimes the music reminds him of somethin, and sometimes he lets that happen. Sometimes he even thinks about it.
But that's just three-in-the-morning. Nothin more to it.