Tapas and Jazz (the Professor)
Peering over a jazz drum kit, meeting the eyes of a failed student with a sense of disgust, tensing up with every loop as he remembers all of the time invested on the project. The wise-ass kid that took an entire summer to break and then rebuild. The hours of lessons free of charge and risking a whole hell of alot with his colleauges for this kid, this charity piece of work. Fierce on the snare and the rat-a-tats of the hi-hat are now drowning out the obscure sounds of that damned avant-garde saxophonist. The bassist nervously thumps away looking around for direction, hunched over in that (frankenstein's)Eegore kinda way. He abruptly finishes the set and thanks the crowd in a half-hearted way, and the sarcasm just cuts through the air causing a hush to fall across the room. He makes his way over to the bar to toss back a bevy of Manhattens for an half hour or so. Makes his way to our table just to add insult in that haughty drunken state, then returns to his throne upon the stage. The bright lights seem to blind him and the mistakes he now can't help but make, are now humbling the man.