they sat in the low light blue smoke of the room and, after a while, running out of things to say, he picked up a guitar and started to strum some rudimentary chords, plucking triads and tripping harmonics and, believing he was, of a sudden, some old blues man, he began to throw in some … Continue reading perhaps this is what they call jazz?
a bowlegged woman and a woe betide gent and a worrisome teen with marker pens, come suddenly through the door. Over the rim of his jar, he decides them, "a very rum number indeed."
in this narrow kitchen i dream a wild life with you. out there, he breathes. he loves you. i taste you and i believe, every evening, in everything. i don't know how we got here. but if this is where you find me, this narrow kitchen, with my heart on my sleeve. just whistle. .
nickreeves 