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We Played Music

I felt the cold tonight. In a heatless storage unit turned music studio in Fremont my son Lawrence, his friend Cameron Brochier and I rehearsed for our February gig in Cotati.

Organizer Geri DiGiorno sounded a bit nervous on the phone when she found out my poetry reading would be accompanied by members of a rock band.  I assured her that the music would be more jazzy and bluesy.

But it was the distortion that added a special flavor to the poems.  Cameron was pleased that I asked for it and smiled broadly whenever I gave him a thumb-up on his riff.

When I pulled out my Native American drum Lawrence was unsure.  “Eh, we’ve never played with native instruments before.”

“No worries,”  I told him. “When one ends the other begins.”

We scored the poems, each contributing ideas and moods.  The cold was forgotten until we finished.  Then, it was bitter.

“Dinner?”  I suggested.

“No, we have to do our own rehearsal now.”

I left the guys in their freezer and drove home.

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