Black Coats and Blue Notes

It’s raining on the streets of Montreal.

But under the stairs leading to a much cleaner bar, and through the tiny tunnel of blackened bricks, which holds the door,

The house band grooves...

The club, a collective trance, room

with a grey cloud floating relentlessly

the dim lights from the smoke stained ceiling. Regulars, wearing their worn black coats

and dress shoes,

listen;

sipping pine gin and tapping toes.

The thick strings of the mahogany bass resonate, possessed by a ghost, Ivory keys fall in and out of consciousness, and silver buttons up and down, fly

interwoven with

creative spunk.

Beneath a drooping ceiling tile two men play chess and in the back corner, near the lonely pay phone, ladies in red dresses

eye men with golden tubes

and Charlie speaks of the good old days

“when Parker played at Minton’s.” All the while

blue notes wear black coats

and rain beats down on the streets of Montreal.

—Richie K.