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.