Dear Thelonius, I was up at five this morning eating toast and writing down my dreams while cold rains swept across the region. I thought about the African-American church and how I once read that your sound was a gospel sound. Then a memory: my grandmother halfing a stick of gum and silently handing it to me while the pastor rained down his hellfire.
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The sweetest chewing gum, like the first real kiss on the third date, when all the tightness of my face rinsed away, saliva was rain water, nothing could stop this deluge, my eyes were closed but light was everywhere. Randy
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