Writings at Random

Jazz Player

"He's a moody sorta chap, ain't got much to his name but jazz and that piana. Don't understand the fella most of the time but he's got good music so I keep'm around." The owner explained. 

"What about his voice? He sing much?"

"Nah, just plays. Never heard him raise his voice louder than this conversation." 

"Any other instruments?" 

"I don't know Larry, you should ask 'im. And hey, don't think about stealing him away like that Jonny kid." He points a finger. 

"I think you're mean'n to say Jonas; but don't worry about a thing buddy, I'm just curious." Larry says swiveling around to lean against the bar counter and watching as the kid passionately walked hand over hand across the keys. 

"Eh George, where's he from anyways?" 

George props his elbows on the countertop and leans into them scratching his stubbled jaw. 

"Must be Phily... yeah up west, inna-city Phily. He said I got recommended by a fella he met traveling through. And thank God too, I needed a jazz playa. Since you snatched my last one." 

"Take it easy, you've got your own now, all's well, all's well." Larry put his hands in the air, and George let his gaze drift through the smoky air until he found the piano and its player.