Lorelai and I went to a jazz concert last night. Walking in we heard the drummer make a few introductory brushes and they were off. At first the pianist’s ideas dominated the conversation, but then he and the drummer began to swap stories back and forth, with the bassist keeping the flow together with the appropriate uh-huh’s and yeah man’s. Finally the piano took off on a real whopper, flying all the way into the tenor until the climax came crashing down around him and the bassist intervened and begin holding forth about the great deep truths of the universe. The other two offered a few amens, then burst out again into full throat.
Without a pause they scittered through an all too short set, building momentum until they collided with an oncoming cymbal crash and stopped. Then we kissed. That is, Lorelai and I, not the bandmembers. Though I would have given them anything after that performance, including my body.
Meta-Life 