Smooth Jazz

The cafe was dimly lit, whiffs of fresh ground coffee and sweet fresh baked bread filled the noses of the crowd. Antique chairs and tables filled the rather rectangular room allowing for rest for the weary travelers and passerby’s of New York City. The constant chatter of folks; the younger ones with friends or grabbing a warm cup of Joe before their daily rush, and the older ones who sat and observed like sloths watching the day go by. Footsteps from the people walking to and from tables, tapping of the shoes of those who stood in line, all came together in a chaotic symphony of drums and raindrops.

“Ding” went the bell that warned the baristas of their newest customer, although this one was not here to enjoy the quiet setting, but to make it alive. He walked slowly through the crowds, passing by the long table the cafe used to take orders, the many tables with characters of every kind enjoying their time. As the slender man approached the stage lit by tiny spotlights sprinkled on the ceiling, he prepared to use his weapon against silence. He proceeded to place his leather case on the small table used by the previous entertainment and opened the case revealing the polished saxophone underneath. Gingerly, he took out his instrument and licked his dry lips, accidentally leaving a trail of saliva on his groomed mustache. Then the crowd noticed him, and went silent, accepting the gift about to be given. “This is a fine dressed man”, they thought waiting anxiously for the man’s talent.

Then he played, and played, and played, and played. Blessing the souls of all the inhabitants with expertly chained together notes of jazz. It was a long time since a performance like this, and the crowd was hungry for more. People who had just walked in were gracefully picked up by the smooth waves of the music, and in their entrancement, decided to stay and enjoy some coffee. The music went loud, quiet, soft, and feral. He didn’t need any drummers or singers, but his music sang for itself. He kept going, launching into fast-paced solos then bringing it back down like a mother laying it’s baby’s head on a pillow. Alas, all good things have to come to an end, and when the man pulled the brass from his lips the crowd was left satisfied. This was the day they wanted, the day they deserved. The man asked for no payment, for his payment was the joy and inspiration of others. So he left, without a word, instead leaving behind an array of smiles, joy, and peace. All this, at the small cafe at the corner of New York.

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