After the game, Sty walked off with his girlfriend and a pretty
pocketful of pennies. Jizzo was none the worse for all his losses: he had
secretly used all counterfeit money. Joe, the only real honest dealer, was
the only one who left the game broke.
Soon after all the poker players had left, it became time for the bar to close. All the other guests left the building except for Joe, who stayed behind to watch Sam clean the bar up.
After the seats were folded and all but one of the lights had been put out, Joe was still staring into space, waiting for something to happen. He wasn't sure what, but he just felt that something had to happen.
Then, something happened: Sam put his hand on Joe's shoulder, and said, "You're waiting for something to happen, aren't ya?"
Startled from his sense of semi-comatose-ness, Joe regained his composure and stated, rather foolishly, "Well, yeah. Has anything happened yet."
"Yup," replied Sam, matter of factly, "you're broke."
This horrible memory crushed Joe. He bent over, sobbing out loud.
"There, there," coaxed Sam. "You'll be fine."
Joe slowed his despair down, looked up, and said, "It's just, I've always been wanting (sob) a (sob) happy ending of some sort, (sob) and all I've been able to do is...is... mess up!"
"Even the best go through hard times," Sam eased. "Why look at me! When I was working with the WangaBoboChisisisisisikangaRooroTubbyola- NgchiWaNgChIWongoes, down in Africa, we had a really hard time. One time, the tribe leader had finally found the girl of his dreams. Now, in the WangaBoboChisisisisisikangaRooroTubbyolaNgchiWaNg-ChIWongoe society, a custom for fiancés is to go on a hunting trip together."
"So they went hunting, and he pegged her with a poison dart?" Joe inquired.
"No, not exactly, but his queen was also my girlfriend."
"The never ending story of broken hearts?"
"Exactly." Now it was Sam who was sobbing. "Boy, do I ever miss Elita Franchita Gordita." (Here, Sam wailed uncontrollably for about ten seconds, then he snapped out of it.) "If you think losing all your money is hard, try losing the love of your life!"
Joe was going to say, "I'd rather not," but he stopped himself. Then he thought about what the man was saying. He concluded that it had nothing to do with happy endings. "What does this have to do with my problems?" Joe demanded.
Back in the real world by now, Sam replied, "Nothing, really, it's just a nice love story. By the way, I never saw Elita again."
"Great story, Sam, but I think it's past my bedtime."
Whatever Joe was saying about bedtimes, he must have not meant it, because on the way to his humble abode, he met up with Jizzo and some of his friends.
"You still too busy to have some fun with the gang?" Jizzo asked.
Joe thought about it for a while, and then simply said, "I guess not."
"Then let's go!"
It was a strange sight to see a tall black man running alongside a group of young teenagers. The thought of why the gang would want to meddle with him never crossed Joe's mind.
The night was anything but young when the crew got started at around three in the morning. They started light: throwing rocks at passing cars. When they ran out of rocks, they threw chunks of granite. It was almost fun. Joe enjoyed it for a while, but eventually it got boring. Whenever they spotted someone walking in the dark alone, they would pick their pockets. After they got enough pockets picked, they gave all the money to Joe. In the end, Joe had more money than he could remember ever having.
The next morning, Joe woke up to find himself lying on a park bench. It took a couple knocks in the head for Joe to remember what had happened the night before. When he did remember, Joe felt horrible about all his ill-gotten gain. but when he felt his pockets, they were empty.
Several choice words could have been used against the Stingers at that point, but they weren't. Joe walked home feeling horrible, sick, and strangely hungry. Joe looked at the clock on the clock-tower.
Twelve Noon!
To add to the tragedy of the moment, Joe realized that today was the day of the big performance!
Joe ran home to get his saxophone and start practicing. He took the horn out and quickly put it together. In the hastiness of the moment, though, Joe dropped his lucky reed and accidentally stepped on it, splintering his toe and ruining the wood. The lucky reed had cumbusted, which was a bad omen for Joe. He felt like screaming. He did.
This was not Joe's day.
Joe struggled through his daily practice routine. It wasn't easy, considering his number one reed was yesterday's news. That and the fact that he only had one day to practice.
Either way, by the time he finished practicing all the tunes, his clock said 4:30, a half hour before the full-band rehearsal. He hurried over to the jazz club and got there just in time, but he found that all the lights were turned off, and no one was inside. To add to the suspense, the clock at the club only said 4:00. For no particular reason, Joe started to panic.
It was then that he saw it: a light in the dark: the shadow of a man with a trumpet, contrasting greatly to a brilliant light surrounding it.
Slowly, Joe stepped inside and managed to ask the specter, "Have you come to take me home?"
"Home? Whatch'you talkin' 'bout?" came the reply in an startlingly familiar voice.
"You mean, your not Gabriel?"
"Of course not!" the man said as he walked into Joe's range of visibility.
"You're right. Gabriel would have better looking clothes." Joe stopped himself as he realized who the person was. "Louis Armstrong?" he said, while thinking to himself, "How could I have mistook you for and angel?"
"In the flesh," Louis said heartily, apparently not having read Joe's thoughts.
"Well, since your not that exciting, I guess I'll just go home until the rest of the band comes."
"Why do you want to leave? I always come here early. Good habit."
Joe thought for a while how to put his thoughts, then stated simply, "I hate you."
Somewhat insulted by this last remark, Louis thought to himself, "Was it something I said?" Instead, he said, sarcastically, "Well, I like you, too."
Joe busted up in tears. "It's all right!" eased Louis. "I didn't mean it!"
"It's not that!" sobbed Joe.
"Then what is it?" Louis persisted.
"It's just, well, I don't know, I just... don't know!"
"Most of the time, people do. They're just not usually willing to admit it."
"I guess you're right it's just... I don't know!"
Louis could see he wasn't getting anywhere, so he tried a different approach: "I'll give you some time to cool down."
"NO!!" Joe screamed, then, holding himself, said, "No, I need to talk to you."
"Always a great way to solve problems, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"So what do ya wanna talk about?"
"Well, it's just... you know how whenever we perform, the band, you know, Oliver always seems to let you take the best solos, er, the most solos, er..."
"I get it, and I've noticed."
"Well, I practice just as hard as you" (starting to scream) "and I get less than half the credit! My name isn't even in the programs!!"
"There are no programs."
"That's besides the point. If I could only have one... one..." (breaking up and moaning again.)
"Calm down, calm down," said Louis, gently. Then, he immediately thought of an idea. "Hey, Joe. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do...."
Soon after all the poker players had left, it became time for the bar to close. All the other guests left the building except for Joe, who stayed behind to watch Sam clean the bar up.
After the seats were folded and all but one of the lights had been put out, Joe was still staring into space, waiting for something to happen. He wasn't sure what, but he just felt that something had to happen.
Then, something happened: Sam put his hand on Joe's shoulder, and said, "You're waiting for something to happen, aren't ya?"
Startled from his sense of semi-comatose-ness, Joe regained his composure and stated, rather foolishly, "Well, yeah. Has anything happened yet."
"Yup," replied Sam, matter of factly, "you're broke."
This horrible memory crushed Joe. He bent over, sobbing out loud.
"There, there," coaxed Sam. "You'll be fine."
Joe slowed his despair down, looked up, and said, "It's just, I've always been wanting (sob) a (sob) happy ending of some sort, (sob) and all I've been able to do is...is... mess up!"
"Even the best go through hard times," Sam eased. "Why look at me! When I was working with the WangaBoboChisisisisisikangaRooroTubbyola- NgchiWaNgChIWongoes, down in Africa, we had a really hard time. One time, the tribe leader had finally found the girl of his dreams. Now, in the WangaBoboChisisisisisikangaRooroTubbyolaNgchiWaNg-ChIWongoe society, a custom for fiancés is to go on a hunting trip together."
"So they went hunting, and he pegged her with a poison dart?" Joe inquired.
"No, not exactly, but his queen was also my girlfriend."
"The never ending story of broken hearts?"
"Exactly." Now it was Sam who was sobbing. "Boy, do I ever miss Elita Franchita Gordita." (Here, Sam wailed uncontrollably for about ten seconds, then he snapped out of it.) "If you think losing all your money is hard, try losing the love of your life!"
Joe was going to say, "I'd rather not," but he stopped himself. Then he thought about what the man was saying. He concluded that it had nothing to do with happy endings. "What does this have to do with my problems?" Joe demanded.
Back in the real world by now, Sam replied, "Nothing, really, it's just a nice love story. By the way, I never saw Elita again."
"Great story, Sam, but I think it's past my bedtime."
Whatever Joe was saying about bedtimes, he must have not meant it, because on the way to his humble abode, he met up with Jizzo and some of his friends.
"You still too busy to have some fun with the gang?" Jizzo asked.
Joe thought about it for a while, and then simply said, "I guess not."
"Then let's go!"
It was a strange sight to see a tall black man running alongside a group of young teenagers. The thought of why the gang would want to meddle with him never crossed Joe's mind.
The night was anything but young when the crew got started at around three in the morning. They started light: throwing rocks at passing cars. When they ran out of rocks, they threw chunks of granite. It was almost fun. Joe enjoyed it for a while, but eventually it got boring. Whenever they spotted someone walking in the dark alone, they would pick their pockets. After they got enough pockets picked, they gave all the money to Joe. In the end, Joe had more money than he could remember ever having.
The next morning, Joe woke up to find himself lying on a park bench. It took a couple knocks in the head for Joe to remember what had happened the night before. When he did remember, Joe felt horrible about all his ill-gotten gain. but when he felt his pockets, they were empty.
Several choice words could have been used against the Stingers at that point, but they weren't. Joe walked home feeling horrible, sick, and strangely hungry. Joe looked at the clock on the clock-tower.
Twelve Noon!
To add to the tragedy of the moment, Joe realized that today was the day of the big performance!
Joe ran home to get his saxophone and start practicing. He took the horn out and quickly put it together. In the hastiness of the moment, though, Joe dropped his lucky reed and accidentally stepped on it, splintering his toe and ruining the wood. The lucky reed had cumbusted, which was a bad omen for Joe. He felt like screaming. He did.
This was not Joe's day.
Joe struggled through his daily practice routine. It wasn't easy, considering his number one reed was yesterday's news. That and the fact that he only had one day to practice.
Either way, by the time he finished practicing all the tunes, his clock said 4:30, a half hour before the full-band rehearsal. He hurried over to the jazz club and got there just in time, but he found that all the lights were turned off, and no one was inside. To add to the suspense, the clock at the club only said 4:00. For no particular reason, Joe started to panic.
It was then that he saw it: a light in the dark: the shadow of a man with a trumpet, contrasting greatly to a brilliant light surrounding it.
Slowly, Joe stepped inside and managed to ask the specter, "Have you come to take me home?"
"Home? Whatch'you talkin' 'bout?" came the reply in an startlingly familiar voice.
"You mean, your not Gabriel?"
"Of course not!" the man said as he walked into Joe's range of visibility.
"You're right. Gabriel would have better looking clothes." Joe stopped himself as he realized who the person was. "Louis Armstrong?" he said, while thinking to himself, "How could I have mistook you for and angel?"
"In the flesh," Louis said heartily, apparently not having read Joe's thoughts.
"Well, since your not that exciting, I guess I'll just go home until the rest of the band comes."
"Why do you want to leave? I always come here early. Good habit."
Joe thought for a while how to put his thoughts, then stated simply, "I hate you."
Somewhat insulted by this last remark, Louis thought to himself, "Was it something I said?" Instead, he said, sarcastically, "Well, I like you, too."
Joe busted up in tears. "It's all right!" eased Louis. "I didn't mean it!"
"It's not that!" sobbed Joe.
"Then what is it?" Louis persisted.
"It's just, well, I don't know, I just... don't know!"
"Most of the time, people do. They're just not usually willing to admit it."
"I guess you're right it's just... I don't know!"
Louis could see he wasn't getting anywhere, so he tried a different approach: "I'll give you some time to cool down."
"NO!!" Joe screamed, then, holding himself, said, "No, I need to talk to you."
"Always a great way to solve problems, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"So what do ya wanna talk about?"
"Well, it's just... you know how whenever we perform, the band, you know, Oliver always seems to let you take the best solos, er, the most solos, er..."
"I get it, and I've noticed."
"Well, I practice just as hard as you" (starting to scream) "and I get less than half the credit! My name isn't even in the programs!!"
"There are no programs."
"That's besides the point. If I could only have one... one..." (breaking up and moaning again.)
"Calm down, calm down," said Louis, gently. Then, he immediately thought of an idea. "Hey, Joe. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do...."
