A morning nocturne

Yesterday was my day to sell my friend Tom's smart-ass t-shirts at Pike Place Market. Since I live a mere 1/2 mile away I was, as usual, walking.

In the last block of my normal route is a branch of the Seattle Athletic Club, which has a clock visible from the sidewalk. I use this clock to see how much time I have left before morning roll call starts.

It will tell me, for instance, whether I can slow the pace a bit and enjoy the last of my morning cheap stogie.

Across the street from the SAC is a courtyard between two business buildings. As I was approaching I could hear, echoing out of the courtyard, a very haunting version of Harlem Nocturne being blown on a saxophone.

Harlem Nocturne is one of my all-time favorite tunes. My mood was already good but hearing that tune just brought it up another big notch.

I sped up, checked the clock, and discovered I had enough time to trot across the street and tip the old black cat who was sitting there blowing.

A visual, by the way, right out of my personal fantasyTM.

So I did.