I am sitting here in front of Potbellys in the suburbs because it’s a nice day and I want to write outside. Admittedly, it’s not an inspiring atmosphere because I’m at a café table on a sidewalk next to a black top parking lot in the middle of a bland strip mall that could be anywhere USA, but hey the sky is blue, there’s a slight breeze and I’m writing.
So no complaints here.
There is one weird/amusing thing though. There’s this apparently 60-plus year old honking on the saxophone. And he’s horrible. I suppose he’s practicing, I’m not sure.
I didn’t know a sax could sound that bad, and I remember when my nephew was in fourth grade and started playing the sax. He was, well, he was still better than this guy.
It’s been great to watch people’s faces when they get out of their car and hear his squawking.
One woman frowned and asked the guy next to her, “what the heck is that noise?”
“I don’t know, a goose I guess.”
To prove to you how much he’s really honking, I’ve overheard two other conversations identical to that one.
But part of me admires the Kenny G wannabe’s fortitude. He’s practicing his horn, honks included, for all to hear and he doesn’t seem to give a damn, which you know, is kinda cool. So cool that I don’t mind the squawking all that much, which is why I’m going to sit here awhile longer and just write.