Saturday the weather was great. I was in the park checkin’ out this group of Jazz musicians I stumbled upon playin’ free underneath the maple and the oak. There was a gentle breeze crossing the grass and asphalt and things seemed alright for the moment. I sat down on the wooden bench next to the pocket of flowers soaking in the sun. Up came a wayward soul smelling like a Friday night stint of whiskey and beer. “I haven’t heard an upright bass in fa-evah”, he stated emphatically, parking himself on the bench next to me. I noticed right away his black eye accompanied by a cut on the left side of his face. Either he got nailed or went down somewhere catching himself with his head.
We both sat and enjoyed the music, the breeze, the park. Then he turned and said to me softly, “It’s no fun. I’ve been homeless for two weeks. Nobody should have to live like this. It’s no fun. I got throwed out. Too much drinking.”
The band played on. The trumpet pouring out notes made specifically for the summer air. “Something about music that cleanses the soul,” he said, hands now clasped leaning forward, elbows on knees. “Well I guess I’ll go back. I gotta kiss alotta ass to get back in, alotta ass, but I’ll go back. You take care.” “You do the same”, I said, and off he trudged.
After a few minutes I left too because the music just wasn’t the same without him.
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