Scribbler's Cafe

At the Royal Horse jazz club in Umeda

The drummer is reluctant to give it up. We rubberneck his flailing over our Vodkas and Bourbons just like the car wreck on the side of I-5. At last, the sax enters in and spins off a riff that spirals up to the full yellow moon that hangs over Osaka tonight.

One moment, when my eyes are trained on the hands of the piano player and my busy pen has ceased scribling in reverence, my dear friend leans over and whispers in my ear.

“I bet I know exactly what kind of men you fall in love with.”

I smirked. Try your best. You have no idea.

“It’s those artistic intellectuals. The talented big dreamers. Except, they haven’t hit it yet. They are full of potential and frustration.”

My mouth drops open and I flush from head to toe. Only power was forgotten. I love their frustration, potential and power.

posted by Scribbler @ Monday, December 19, 2005