Saxophonist
One of the best parts of a night at the Hollywood Bowl happens before you even enter that space as you walk from the paid parking on Highland/Franklin through the pedestrian tunnel toward the hallowed Bowl. As soon as you get underground, you can hear it, the soft strains of a familiar song, played with care by a saxophonist at the tunnel's end. He's pretty much a Hollywood Bowl institution, even more so than the crazy man singing gospel songs with the dog puppet who doesn't make it to every performance. The saxophonist, though, is there without fail, setting the tone for a relaxing night away from the hustle and bustle of L.A. A hat for donations sits aside his music-stand, but it's clear from his playing that he's doing this not for the cash albeit lucrative but because he loves it, loves making others happy with his music.
Having walked past him so many times for so many years, questions inevitably arise:
What does the saxophonist do during the Bowl performances? Play for no one in particular?
What about during the off-season?
What will happen when he stops coming? How many people will notice?
Of course, shy people like you keep such questions fettered away, simply smiling at the saxophonist and thanking him for his music as you walk past rather than engaging him in conversation.
What if for once, though, you stopped?
Having walked past him so many times for so many years, questions inevitably arise:
What does the saxophonist do during the Bowl performances? Play for no one in particular?
What about during the off-season?
What will happen when he stops coming? How many people will notice?
Of course, shy people like you keep such questions fettered away, simply smiling at the saxophonist and thanking him for his music as you walk past rather than engaging him in conversation.
What if for once, though, you stopped?