„… I have $2,000 in Nevada City Bank of America – use it to cover my affairs and debts….“
The park in the middle of the city reminds me of a forest. I hear a trumpet. I follow the sound. Somebody tries to play a tune and he is not very successful. In the middle of the city park – wonderful. I try to find the player. It is not as easy as it seems. This time I am really surrounded by trees.
I am thrilled by the thought that somebody has chosen the park instead of a hall or his room as a practice place. He continues to make mistakes, and I continue to enjoy. The mistakes are sometimes our best moves. Otherwise we would not reach the right places. I am telling you this directly, being streetwise, hard like jazz, like Whalen’s poetry in the eyes of Lew Welch.
In the middle of the park there is an entrance to a cave, and above the entrance I finally find the source of the sound. He stands as if unaware of what surrounds him. His trumpet is in his hands and his mouth is slightly twisted. He smiled when he saw me. I watched him that long. It becomes suspicious that everybody smiles at me. Maybe I should stop wearing these multi-coloured shirts and go back to black. Or accept kindness as a virtue that I will believe in as I once did.