How the story began...
claz
(mispell, should be onery) ambassador from the east side Old Town,
Eureka, Far West U. S.
Local scribes revealed the underbelly of OTE, sunny days, silent
nights, except for the occasional sound of a liquor bottle breaking in
the gutter:
It's quarter to five, a.m.(what does that stand for). Dark at the
Sunnyside. Know what's needed, Huck? A nice neon sign across the
street, flashing on and off. You can put up some venetian blinds in
the living room, just like they did in the '30s and '40s. You can run
a
detective firm from there. Or put an old bed in the front room, and
be
a down and out jazz musician in a fleabag hotel. I always regret not
renting the place across the hall. But it smelled funny and the
windows were stuck shut.
********
...across the street.."Has-Beans Haven" - a place for the lonely and
forgotten" I can hear a solo alto sax,
improvising a wandering tuneless tune, calling out to everyone within
range of hearing..."i'm here...you're here..we're still
going...this
music proves it..walk away..no need to run..life will still be
here...and wherever you go..you can wander..i'll be here..tunelessly
breathing and playing a tune"
Where's the cream for my coffee
*********
Humbug:
Is that Huck I hear playing the down and out alto sax? I rather
like
the idea of him as a detective....It was 3 a.m. and the coffee sign
was
keeping me awake - neon tubes sucking up shots of espresso and
shooting
caffeinated morse code messages through the broken slats of my front
window blinds. I lit up another cigarette, and watched as my smoke
rings were blown apart by Coffee! Coffee! Coffee! I walked over and
looked out the window and that's when I saw her. There was a dame
sitting on the curb across the street. She had a banjo on her knee
and my gut told me it was out of tune.