The Bass always sits in the back of the room, with his feet on the table and his chair leaned back and a cigar trailing out of the side of his mouth.

He heaves his girth upright to place his order with the waitress and she knows he’ll

be making all the orders and leaving the best tip, so she smiles

The Trombone glides in and nearly collides with the waitress but she steps aside in
her black silk shoes with one fluid motion.
Her leg sticks out of the slit in her red dress with toned muscles and tanned skin and all the boys know she’s always there for support.

Drum solo!
Dishes clang out
Of the bus
Boy’s bucket and the
Silverware chimes and the
Half-eaten steaks slap the floor and that
One plate just keeps on spinning

The Trumpet sneers, raising her pinky and leaving a Revlon smudge on her glass. Her diamond rings glisten and with her eyes, she tells her companion how good it is to be rich and talented and able to make purple look sexy.

The Trumpet leans in to the Trombone’s table and stage whispers, “Let’s get out of here,” and the Trombone eases out of her chair.

The Bass looks after the women but he just nods to the bus boy cleaning his mess
and keeps bobbing his head to the music