Ivory String and Snare (note: W.I.P)

Rico's in the corner tapping the snare. His eyes are closed and the music is flowing from his fingers to the wooden sticks that make an explosion with each tap. It's his job to keep the pace. Always in the background, but a leader in the shadows. It feels like he's been doing this for years....different club, same ol' jazz.

Warren is the newbie who Rico picked up off the streets a few weeks ago. He was playin his bass for quarters on the corner of 8th and Dunbar. Warren had always wanted to be apart of a band but never really had any luck or a knack for opportunity. His parents kicked him out of the house when he turned 17 and ever since he was a floater. He had been playing this bass since he found it in the back of an abandoned music store...three years now it must be. He was self taught. Rico had passed by the kid one day and saw past the repetitive plucks and strings and saw potential.

Lois didn't quite like the looks of Warren. Maybe it was his dirty fingernails or his unkept hair but the kid reeked of big trouble in Chinatown. And she didn't like young pups sniffing their way into a pit bull scene. Maybe she was a snob...or maybe she was just too protective of Rico and didn't want Rico's idyllic fantasies of jazz band glory to cloud his judgement. But she'd let Rico have his apprentice....for now at least.

The trio were playing at Wylie's Banana Room tonight and the crowd was pulled paper thin. But it was a Tuesday night, so they couldn't expect any better.