I leave the bar and make my way home through the swirling fog that covers Ukuleletown after midnight. I’m a little unsteady, but okay as long as I keep moving. As I turn off Broadway and down a dark side street I hear the sound of music coming from an apartment window above me. If I smoked, I would light up a Lucky Strike, but I don’t, so I just stand there, hat tilted back, and listen.
Lovely scary songs with a heavy French accent. Through the window I can see the glint of polished metal: he must be playing a resonator ukulele. What is it with frenchmen and resonator ukuleles? For that matter, english ukulele players, when they’re not wanging away on banjo ukuleles, seem to prefer resonators also. Hmm. I could be on to something here.
Or not. The songs I hear through the apartment window have…class. Yeah, that’s nice. There’s plenty of tastelessness in Ukuleletown: bathtub madonnas on the lawns and Sea Monkeys in their houses. But this music is…somehow tastier, darker, grittier.
The music stops. “Who are you?” I yell up. “Stelele” He yells back.
I smile and head home. When I get to my apartment I turn on the lights and first thing I do is feed Spunky.
Spunky’s my Sea Monkey.
Stelele’s music: NSFW
No comments:
Post a Comment