When I hear Miles and Gil, I am elsewhen.
I am in a sixties coffee house somewhere in New York. In front of me is a half eaten roast beef sandwich and a cup of black java. To the right of my plate is a notebook where I scribble any half form thought that pops into my head, trying to swing it like Kerouac and Ginsberg but knowing in my heart I can't punch at that weight.
Next to me is a Brunette in a beret. She's a sophomore at City College, fresh from Cornhusker City, Iowa and squarer than a kid's alphabet block.
But she's open.
I don't mean she's easy. (But let's be honest, a man's gotta hope.) I mean she knows she's square but knows it's nowhere. She wants to sand her corners off and groove. Her sis is a suburban chick with the hubby and the two kids and she says that every time she hears her sister talk, you can hear her gasp for air.
She takes my hand, looks at me with big brown eyes that look like the best cup of joe you ever drank and she says, "I wanna breathe in the world".
I tell her, "Take a breath, kiddo. You're halfway there".
She gulps in air as Miles blows out and the world vibrates with possibility.