March-ing Band


When I cry I like to be accompanied by a saxophone.  Lamentations have more depth if a personal saxophonist is kept on retainer and always nearby.

But saxophonists don’t come cheap.  At times I’ve had to leave the Bentley in the garage for a couple of days and take the Jag to the club, just to save money on gas so I could keep Phil close by with his horn.  That alone was worth Phil forfeiting a blast, or two.

I hated to let Irwin go, but an accordion just isn’t the same.  It’s too hard to look bluesy pumping an accordion.  Anger and despair are two different animals and most of the time Irwin just looked constipated.

Laughter needs no accompaniment.  A cheerful expulsion makes its own music.


If you find someone who helps you hit just the right keys to curve the corners of your mouth upward and make your midriff vibrate, reward them well and don’t let them out of your sight.

If you haven’t found the magic of laughter, yet, I hear Irwin is still looking for work.


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