Smoke is a disgusting thing. Especially when you are breathing it in after it was already in someone else’s mouth. But what can you do, you’re a jazz musician. It is your life. You sit there on whatever the hell kind of platform they give you trying to find what little room you can find to move away from the three other quys in your quartet. So hot in there under the lights in the smoke, one can even imagine that they are in a sauna and everyone else is out there wrapped just in towels. But if that were to be then you wouldn’t even think of coming. Not even for the measly $50 buck a night they are paying you. But hey, you gotta make a living somehow right?
The first notet reveal tonight to be a bad night. Nobody seems to want to listen to some guy caterwauling on some shin bet metal thing right? But there is always that guy in the back who seems to relax whenever you start playing. Every night you see him and yet every night you still seem to make him feel it. So you are playing, for just him and you…