Bill invites me to stop by and play drums. I do, but I can’t. Not really.
“Go ahead,” says Bill.
Bill pops in a Thelonious Monk CD that he knows I know well, and I semi-play for a few minutes, but I can’t quite feel it.
“Want me to leave you alone?” says Bill. “I’ll go in the living room. Play as long as you like.”
Bill closes the door behind him. I hang in there for a few minutes more, but it’s just gone. The old connections are cut. I can keep time, but that’s about it; like I’m using borrowed limbs. So I give up, leave the throne, thank Bill and leave. Head back over to Sam’s living room, build a fire in the fireplace and open the windows.
The fire works. Bill heads back into his studio, cranks up the Monk album and trades riffs with Billy Higgins.
Man, those guys are good.
But that’s okay. Fair enough. They’re seniors.
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