It was dark, mysterious, and strong. He was all that. The day he had walked into music store it was love at first sight. He was at first shocked at the cost, not because it was unreasonable, but because he couldn’t afford it.
He worked harder at getting gigs then he had at any point of his life. After working twenty consecutive nights he had both the money for his rent and enough to get that horn. After he bought it he held it in a way that could only be called an embrace. All through the night he played ballads on top of his building letting the world listen to the wonderful sound.
The string bass player scuttles in, a refugee from the sixties. He had a goatee, dark sunglasses, and an olive beret his girlfriend gave him. His suit was a mild gray that showed even he had class. He started handing out some new music he had composed during the day. Of course the rest the band did not appreciate when he handed out music right before a gig, but he did anyways. He noticed the dazed look on the sax player’s face while he handed him the tenor part. The sax player just looked into the gleam of his instrument which seemed to stare back.
He looks to hand the drummer his part, but all he sees is an empty throne. “Lazy bum, he’s probably out getting drunk,” the bassist mutters. The other three seem to nod in agreement. He set the music on one of the tom’s and hoped the drummer would show up soon enough. The audience was getting restless.