I’d walked myself out of the buzz
The buzz of a long day
A drive up the coast
Saved only by the soothing voice of the GPS
Fighting for space at 70 mph
Navigating rush hour
Going over the wrong bridge the wrong way
Fighting my way back,
Stupid GPS I spit out
Finally
The hotel, a disappointment in itself
But slipped between
Chinatown and Union Square
Around the corner from the French Quarter
A fine repast
Urban walking
Digging the architecture
Recognizing the Frank Lloyd Wright edifice
From at least a block away
Chilling in the sliding drift of the crowded sidewalks
Absorbing the look and feel of the place
Upscale and updone, I thought
The buzz receded
Heading back to the hotel
As I reached the last corner
A tendril of a plaintive wail
Reached my ear
A horn
Crying in the night
I turned and followed the sound
Found this dude and his horn
In a storefront alcove where he poured forth
I dropped a few bucks
After a while, he stopped for a smoke break
We talked
“Name’s Top” he said when I asked
“Well Topcat really,
but I’ve been around so long everybody just shortens it
We talked some more
Like old friends
Said goodnight
Found my way back up the street
As I climbed into bed
A lick and a curl
Crept through the transom
Top was crying his blues
In the night
And I slept tight
David Trudel © 2012
