used to be so easy, you were so bright and breezy

A bar that opens only at midnight? Jazz and soul and improvisation, guests jamming on the tiny stage while smoke curls up towards the ceiling? a skinny girl in a dress "smaller than my pillowcase"? Slap bass solos that bounce in your head long after the last note? Too good to be true surely. Well, okay. It doesn't open only at midnight.

the band played, and got up, got down, invited noisy guy in cap onstage (so, you are the infamous Bong), made music, made me clap, made me wish i was a better musician. it was how you imagine a jazz club to be, with changing line ups and general fooling around. They say the best jazz is never recorded or written after all, spun out beautifully in the whirl of the moment.

The day turned into night and stretched and stretched langourously into the morning. In the predawn it was noticed by my curator friend that it was indeed darkest before the light. The smoke in the arabian place clouded us all, perhaps our judgement too. What time was the right time to go home? Was my mother asleep, or not? Was yours? Young Sparky was not the only one going home to a wideawake reception.

Sweet coffee and long conversation is best taken with a whole day off.