I took Anna to a jazz concert last night. As we walked in the conversation had already begun, the drummer stuttering out his opening address, while the others cleared their throats. Before long they were all weaving tales, the pianist drawing us into his smoky back-ally barbarisms while the drummer took us on a march through all the valleys in the delta. The bassist all the while held forth on all the depth and beauty of the human race, mediating between his companions with wisdom and amiability.
Songs are the only time when humans can all speak at the same time without cacophony. What a night.
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