OH MAN, I WISH I COULD SKAT
Oh man, I wish I could skat like those jazz greats. Or at least I wish I could have been in one of those clubs where they played. I bet I could have kept up with them. I'd wear a loose tie and a tweed coat and I'd polish my shoes every Monday. I think I would have been a drummer. I'd get to the club right at dusk, when the sunlight reflects off all the dust in the air, and it's all a glare everywhere. I'd make sure the drums were tuned, and then I'd sit in a chair in the sun and take a nap until the rest of the band got there and got tuned. Then I'd go inside and rehearse with the other fellas. Then up until it was showtime, I'd sit in the round booth in the back corner and play cards with the trumpet player and sip on some sarsaparilla. It wouldn't be too long before the place was chalk full of all sorts of fine folks, then I'd go up and take my place on the throne behind the drums. After we'd played three or four songs, I'd cue the barman with a twirl of my drumstick up in the air, and he would know that that meant it was time, and he'd bring me a dirty martini with three olives, but it would be in a regular glass so I wouldn't spill it. Well into the set, when the air was full of smoke already, I would light a cigarette and just let it hang in my mouth while we played, taking a quick drag in the slow parts of the songs. It would be grand. You know, just sitting there, smoking a cigarette, before everyone knew they were bad for you. Just improvising off the crowd, off the vibe, off the mood of the room and the lights and the haze.
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- by PAT RICK
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