A gentleman, smooth, and sultry like earnest winds; his melody swivels: volcanic and flexible. He opens his mouth only to thaw. Banned at the peach pit, molding himself to fit into humble tunnels that shudder in the daylight. His little man…he lassoed the sun. Left us to listen…until all the trumpets were gone. Waiting, waiting. Wishing, fading. Praying for that amber groove to resurface. A ragged slope coos, as an uneven piano scatters above the sky. Mixing winsomely, a drink, gated by white ice and black straws. The gentleman offers you his smile.